Recuperation
by honalooloo
Summary: SEQUEL TO REPERCUSSIONS. Set after Series 3 of CBBC's Young Dracula. It's tragedy that tests strength of character, yet Vlad is struggling to hold himself together. It's time for him to move on- but maintaining a stiff upper lip isn't always easy when memories come back to haunt you… Vlad/Erin COMPLETE- THANK YOU ALL
1. Chapter 1

_DISCLAIMER: I own none of the Young Dracula characters or locations etc. The only thing I own is the plot of the story._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is the sequel to 'Repercussions', which, in turn, is the sequel to 'Redemption'. This story is the final instalment in what I have dubbed, for lack of a better name, my 'R' trilogy. While you were probably able to get away with reading 'Repercussions' without reading 'Redemption' first, reading this story without reading 'Repercussions' first is likely to thoroughly confuse you. But to all new readers: welcome! And to all those returning: welcome back! I hope you all had delightful Christmases. As you can see, my plan to hold off from writing until my exams are over didn't really work- ah well. As JDYD so eloquently put it: "Writing is addictive". So without further ado, I present the first chapter of 'Recuperation'; enjoy and virtual hugs to you all, you lovely lot :)_

Chapter 1

_1 (a) Explain how far the views in __**Source B**__ differ from those in __**Source A**__ in relation to attitudes towards Field-Marshal Douglas Haig after the Battle of the Somme. (12 marks)_

Vlad sat with his head in his hands, glassy eyes staring unseeingly at the examination paper in front of him. His knees were cramped beneath the small wooden desk; he shifted uncomfortably, the plastic chair he was sat on creaking audibly. A couple of heads flicked back to look at him.

"Eyes front, please," Miss McCauley called from the top of the hall, and the heads turned back to their papers. Vlad could feel the headmistress' eyes on the top of his head, but he remained looking down determinedly, the glaring white of the paper hurting his eyes and making them sting.

The hall was hot and stuffy. Rows and rows of pupils stretched away in front and behind Vlad, all sat on identical plastic chairs and at identical wooden desks: History was one of Garside's most popular subjects. Vlad felt a bead of sweat run the length of his back; he blew his dripping fringe out of his eyes, grimacing as his biro almost slipped out of his clammy hands. He hesitated, the pen hovering over his spotless answer booklet: _Douglas Haig… Battle of the Somme… Douglas Haig…_

He'd been branded the Butcher of the Somme, Vlad knew that much. Had it been 57,470 casualties on the first day alone? Or had that been Passchendaele? No, Passchendaele was the one that everyone argued about. Crikey, 57,470 casualties was a lot of people… more than the entire population of Kettering… but then who really cared about Kettering anyway…

Vlad gave himself a little shake; he was wasting time. He needed to focus if he was going to scrape through this exam with a decent grade. He knew his father didn't care whether he passed or failed, but Miss McCauley would kill him if he got less than a B, and he might as well leave school with something to show for it.

He cast his mind back to when they had learnt about the Somme in class. It had been a few months ago now; February sprung to mind. He seemed to remember being sent out of the lesson for some reason… most probably for talking, or being cheeky… or staring out of the window in a daydream… quite like what he was doing now, actually…

Vlad sighed, and gritted his teeth- he needed to write _something_. He glanced around instinctively for Erin, before the now-familiar kick to his gut reminded him that she wasn't here. That, despite all her hard work, all her studying, all those essays she had slaved over till the small hours of the morning, she would never sit the exam. She had told Vlad that the Somme would come up and she had been right. Of course, doing some revision might have helped him, but everything seemed to bring back memories. Every page of notes, with the occasional smiley face scrawled in the corner of the margin; every textbook, with multi-coloured Post-It notes marking the relevant pages; it all reminded him of her.

Vlad had taken to calling Erin 'her' now. It was easier, somehow, than saying her name, and having to brace himself for the rush of emotion that would inevitably follow. Calling Erin 'her' or 'she' or 'you-know-who-I-mean' meant that Vlad could somehow commit his late girlfriend to memory; he could pretend she'd never been around, pretend she was just some random girl who he'd met briefly. Someone who'd had no impact on him whatsoever. Someone who hadn't changed his life.

Vlad glanced at the clock. He'd already lost fifteen of his precious ninety minutes and he hadn't written a single word. He abandoned the source question and moved on. He would come back to it later if he had time.

_1 (b) 'The main consequence of the Battle of the Somme was a decline in morale in Britain, and thus a decline in support of the war effort from the Home Front'. Explain why you agree or disagree with this view. (24 marks)_

Vlad could have banged his head on the desk.

* * *

"Pens down and answer booklets closed, please!" Miss McCauley ordered, as the clock on her invigilator's desk chimed 3:30pm. "Ensure you have written your full name, candidate number and centre number on the front of your papers… and the examination is not yet over!" she reminded them, as a red-headed girl near the back of the hall burst into giggles.

Vlad jammed the lid back on his biro wearily, checking he had written 'Vladimir Count' rather than 'Vladimir Dracula' on the front of his paper. The last thing he needed right now was any awkward questions. He stretched idly as the headmistress began to collect the papers, not bothering to conceal his yawn. As she reached him, she grasped his shoulder gently.

"How was that, Vlad?" she whispered sympathetically. Vlad shrugged, dislodging her hand, staring sullenly at a gouge in the wooden desk. He thought he heard her sigh, before she moved past him to finish gathering up the completed papers.

As soon as she gave them the nod to go, there was a colossal banging and scraping as nearly thirty chairs were pushed back. Vlad heaved himself up, slowly re-packing his pencil case, purposefully brushing his pencil shavings onto the floor. Let someone do something for him for once. Let him be the one who everyone ran round after for a change. He sloped out of the hall, loosening his tie and undoing his top button: it was too hot to look smart. The sudden heat wave was only forecast to last a week, but even Vlad was feeling its effects as the unrelenting sun beat down upon the glass roofs of the school. The curtains were permanently closed in the Dracula quarters, and Vlad wasn't the only one who had bruises up his legs from banging into the corners of tables.

"All done, then?"

Vlad jumped, his bag slipping from his shoulders and landing with a dull thump on the tiled floor. Cursing, he bent down to pick it up, hoping that his bottle of soy blood hadn't smashed; he didn't want to have to explain to _another_ teacher why his textbooks were stained with a suspiciously sticky red liquid.

"I wish," he said grumpily, straightening up. "I've still got French Listening left."

Ingrid smiled warmly at him. "Need any help? I got an A at GCSE."

"AS-level is harder than GCSE," Vlad told her flatly, and he thought he saw her smile falter slightly.

"Well, you know where I am if you need me," she said eventually. "And not just for revision." She held his gaze for a second; Vlad barely restrained himself from making sick noises. "I'm only trying to help, Vlad," she called over her shoulder as she stalked back down the corridor, the only person Vlad had seen that day who wasn't sweating copiously. "You can't do everything on your own."

"Pot- kettle- black," Vlad muttered under his breath. Ingrid simply made a very rude hand gesture at him before speeding off back upstairs.

* * *

After having navigated his way through crowds of rowdy students, all eager to get out of school and enjoy the sunshine, Vlad decided dully that he probably ought to take a shower. The unpleasant scent of aftershave and cologne mingled with perfume and hairspray, all turned slightly sour by the stench of sweat, had clung to him as he had pushed his way through the school, and he was feeling distinctly unclean. Peeling his white school shirt from his body, the material sticking slightly to his pale skin, Vlad made his way along the corridor to the bathroom. He prodded at the door warily- his father still hadn't really grasped the concept of locks- before turning the dial on the shower. There was a guttering, clanking sound, followed by a small dribble of lukewarm water, before the shower suddenly jerked into life and a fierce jet spurted from the head. Vlad undressed quickly, ensuring the bolt was firmly across the door, and stepped under the steady stream of cool water. He closed his eyes as the invisible dirt he had accumulated during the day began to be washed away.

That exam had been shocking. Vlad knew he would be lucky to scrape a pass. He tried to feel concerned, he really, really did, but he just couldn't summon up the energy. Who cared if he failed? What did it matter, really? It wasn't like being able to reel off First World War casualty figures and battle plans would actually help him in life. Not on the path he was destined for. To be honest, his father would probably be happier with him if he did abysmally; it would, in his eyes, re-affirm his son's desire to behave like a 'true' vampire. Erin would have been disappointed in him, he knew, but he pushed that thought away- Erin wasn't here. Erin was gone. So there was no point in bothering about she would have thought or said or done.

Vlad reached out blindly, his fingers searching for the shower gel; the crash of plastic on plastic resonated around the bathroom as bottles hit the floor of the cubicle. The Chosen One swore under his breath, opening his eyes and scrabbling around to try and pick them all up- before he spotted something that almost made him lose his balance.

He blinked fiercely, pushing his sopping fringe out of his eyes. Reaching out with trembling fingers, he picked up the smallest, the emptiest bottle, the one with the lid not quite closed. He didn't need to lift it up to his eyes to read the label. The ink was smudged, but it was still legible: _ERIN_. Next to her name was a smiley face, complete with a miniscule pair of pointed fangs.

Vlad hesitated for a moment, staring down at the bottle. The water was still cascading over him. A faintly lemony scent reached his nostrils. He turned the object over in his hands, as if looking for a sign, a clue of some sort, anything… before he came to his senses, and crushed the little bottle into a fine powder. Washing his hands smartly under the jet of water, Vlad turned the shower off and stepped out of the cubicle, pulling his towel around him. Gathering his clothes in his arms, he marched out of the bathroom without a backwards glance.

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you for all of your reviews/follows/favourites thus far. This is a flashback chapter (set in mid-December 2011, just over two weeks after the defeat of Sethius in my timeline). This was originally a festive one-shot that I wrote a couple of weeks ago but never got round to posting; however, I have now re-worked it and it has become Chapter 2. Enjoy!**

Chapter 2

_Miss McCauley rapped sharply on the edge of the podium with her conductor's baton. Her smile had become rather forced as she stared pointedly at the offending chatterers, a group of giggling girls from Year Nine. They nudged each other, biting down hard on their lips in an attempt to try and control themselves. When they had at last fallen silent, the headmistress nodded determinedly at the pianist. "One, two, three," she mouthed._

_The choir launched into a dubious rendition of _Hark the Herald Angels Sing_. Vlad, skulking at the back of the tenors, opened and closed his mouth, mumbling the lyrics with no real grasp of the tune. This Christmas concert had been a stupid idea, he thought bitterly. He'd only agreed to do it because Erin had been so keen. He supposed, after having spent three months submerged in vampire culture, it was a relief for her to participate in some of her familiar breather traditions._

_Now, however, after having been teased mercilessly by Ingrid for the past fortnight and having to attend choir practice twice a week from 4-6pm, Vlad wondered if it was worth it. He had thought that this would give him more time to spend with his girlfriend, but he hadn't banked on Miss McCauley attempting four-part harmonies. While the altos wavered with the tune as the sopranos hesitantly began the descant part, Vlad could tell that the headmistress was beginning to regret her ambitious arrangement._

_Bored, he sought out Erin's blonde head. She was standing in the second row of the sopranos, squinting down at her hymn book, her eyebrows slightly raised as she sang the line 'Born to give them second birth'. She looked up, catching Vlad's eye and winking at him; Vlad rolled his eyes. She suppressed a laugh._

_"Vlad! Erin!" Miss McCauley snapped irritably over the music. She earned herself a scandalised look from the elderly pianist, whose gnarled fingers were banging the old hymn out of the out-of-tune piano with almost alarming zeal._

_Fortunately, it wasn't a long carol, and the choir reached the end of it soon enough; the sopranos struggling to reach the top note, the altos having now lost the tune completely, the tenors singing the bass line instead of their own, and the basses having given up and dissolved into conversation._

_There was a sheepish silence as the final chord faded._

_"Well," Miss McCauley began, before hesitating. She was obviously struggling to find words appropriate to describe what she had just heard. "That wasn't as bad as it could have been," she concluded finally, ignoring the pianist's snort of disagreement. "It's ten to six," she announced, an ill-disguised note of relief in her voice as she checked her watch. "We'll just run _O Come, All Ye Faithful_ then we'll call it a day."_

_"Are we singing it in Latin?" a small boy at the front of the tenors called out hopefully._

_Miss McCauley paused. "I think we'll just stick to the English for today, Arthur," she told him kindly. "I'm not sure I can cope with _Adeste Fideles_ on a Friday evening."_

* * *

_To Vlad's relief, the final ten minutes of the rehearsal passed without incident. _O Come, All Ye Faithful_ had been marginally better than _Hark the Herald_, and Miss McCauley had seemed to be content with that. They were never going to be good, Vlad reasoned, but at least _O Come, All Ye Faithful_ had been in tune._

_Vaguely._

_"I thought you liked singing," Erin said to him, linking his arm as they left the assembly hall as quickly as they could._

_"Course I don't."_

_"So why did you sign up then?"_

_"I thought I'd be able to spend some time with you away from Dad and Ingrid."_

_Erin laughed. "Idiot," she said playfully, ruffling his hair, "We were hardly going to be in the same section, were we?"_

_"Well I didn't know that!" Vlad cried defensively. "I don't know anything about singing."_

_"Clearly," Erin said mischievously, and Vlad scowled at her. "Well…" she began slowly, her eyes glittering with amusement, "I'm a girl, right? And we have higher voices than boys. So we sing the high bits and you sing the low bits."_

_"I know that now," Vlad muttered darkly. He softened slightly as Erin laughed again._

_"The concert's next week, and then you'll never have to sing a Christmas carol again," she told him soothingly._

_"I don't see how you can enjoy it. You don't even believe in God, do you?" Vlad stopped, suddenly aware that he didn't actually know anything about his girlfriend's religious views. Vampires weren't known for being overtly spiritual (he remembered his father's face when he had asked him, as a seven year old, why he and Ingrid had never been baptised), but for all he knew Erin could be the most devout Christian._

_She hesitated, seemingly pondering her answer. "I suppose… I suppose I don't believe in God," she replied thoughtfully, "But I'd like to think that there's someone, somewhere, watching over us." She blushed. "Oh, God, that sounds so stupid-"_

_"No," Vlad said quickly. "No, it doesn't." He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, closing his eyes momentarily- before looking up, and spotting something dangling precariously over the doorway of Miss McCauley's office._

_"Look," he said, pointing to it, "Mistletoe."_

_Erin did a double-take. "I didn't think your dad approved of Christmas?" she asked, astonished._

_Vlad smiled wryly. "I think if it gets him a kiss from Miss McCauley then he's willing to try anything." He interlinked their fingers. "Did you celebrate Christmas at home?"_

_"Course, most breathers do. Christian breathers, anyway."_

_"Did you have a tree and turkey and presents and stuff?" he asked, slightly wistfully._

_"Course we did." Erin stopped suddenly, forcing Vlad to stop too. "Don't you celebrate Christmas?" She sounded shocked._

_Vlad shook his head. "Not really. We sort of did back in Stokely, but only to keep up appearances. We never had Christmas dinner or presents or anything like that."_

_"I knew your dad didn't approve, but I didn't think-"_

_"It's all about Michaelmas in Transylvania," Vlad interjected, shrugging. "You wait till next September. We'll have funeral marches, mourning services- you name it."_

_"Mourning? But I thought Michaelmas was the celebration of some Archangel's triumph over Satan?"_

_"Exactly," Vlad sighed. Erin's brow furrowed for a moment- she looked utterly perplexed- before something clicked in her brain._

_"You don't mean-" she gasped, her eyes hilariously wide, "You don't mean you _mourn_ Satan's death?"_

_"Yep."_

_Erin spluttered incredulously. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she said, flouncing off down the corridor, dragging Vlad with her. "Has your father never read the Bible?" she demanded._

_"What do you think? The Bible tells you to be good. Vampires are bad. Why on earth would he have read it?"_

_Erin seemed to struggle to come up with an answer to that. She settled for putting her nose in the air. "I am not mourning the death of Satan," she told him fiercely._

_"It'll be a laugh, it always is. Ingrid and I used to hide under the buffet tables with a tray of cockroach caramels until everyone left." Vlad smiled absent-mindedly. That had been when both he and Ingrid were in single figures, and their sibling rivalry hadn't yet come into play. The life he had lived in Transylvania had been so simple, so peaceful compared with what he had to deal with now: a sadistic sister, a murderous tutor, a breather-hating father and a former slayer for a girlfriend. Not to mention the expectations of the entire vampire population resting on his shoulders. What wouldn't he give to be back under that buffet table now, he and his sister hyped on sugar, their only worry what time they would be discovered and sent upstairs to bed._

_"Well, I've already got you a Christmas present," Erin whispered, trailing her fingers up Vlad's bare arm so that it tingled at her touch, "So to hell with Michaelmas- unless you'd rather wait till September, of course…" She made to walk away, but Vlad tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her back to him._

_"Just because Dad doesn't approve of Christmas doesn't mean that I don't," he told her softly, his lips millimetres from her ear._

_Erin shivered slightly at the closeness of his proximity. "Should I expect pistols at dawn?"_

_"Perhaps not anything that dramatic, but he won't be pulling any crackers with you, let's put it that way." He moved back from her slightly, so he could look into her face. She looked tired- they were both looking forward to the end of term and a much-needed holiday. "I can't promise it'll be anything like you had at home, but we'll make it special."_

_Erin ran a finger along Vlad's jawline. "I don't want what I had at home," she murmured, seemingly as much to herself as to Vlad. "I only want you. You and me together."_

_Vlad smiled down at her, his unbeating heart warm with love. "Always."_

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

Chapter 3

"There's a young man at the door, Master Vlad," Renfield said, poking his head into the dining room. Vlad looked up from his cereal, surprised- he wasn't expecting a visitor. Pushing back his chair, he moved swiftly across to the blood cabinet.

"Show him up, Renfield, then clear these things away."

Renfield bowed before scuttling off back down the stairs. Vlad pulled the stopper out of a decanter of B positive, his fangs threatening to drop as the alluring aroma reached his nostrils. He ignored it, reaching determinedly for his own goblet of soy blood and gulping it down. He wondered briefly whether he ought to fetch his father, before deciding against it: he was a big boy now. He could handle uninvited guests.

"Vlad."

The familiar voice made Vlad's hand shake, and he put the goblet down hurriedly before he dropped it.

"Ryan," he acknowledged, as expressionlessly as he could, before gesturing to the dining table and bringing the glass of blood over. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I know, sorry about that." Ryan collapsed into a chair. "I ran into a spot of bother with some werewolves, Ingrid probably told you." He snatched up the blood and drained it in one go. "That's my first drop in four days," he told Vlad, shuddering slightly as the cold liquid slid into his system.

"I'm glad to hear you're taking co-existence seriously," Vlad remarked coolly.

Ryan shrugged. "Better than being a pile of ash," he reasoned. He looked hopefully in the direction of the blood cabinet. "I'll have some more if there's any going?"

Vlad sighed inwardly, before getting up and sliding the decanter down the table. "Finish it," he said dully, "Dad won't miss it. It's not like it's a vintage."

"You reserve that for the invited guests, eh?"

"Well, you know how it is," Vlad said awkwardly, and the pair lapsed into silence, Vlad unable to keep his nose from wrinkling slightly as Ryan drank the blood straight from the decanter. "Is there a reason you're here?" he asked eventually, endeavouring to keep the rudeness out of his voice: _I don't want you here. Go away._

Ryan stared at him as if he was stupid. "To see Erin," he said, and Vlad felt as if he had missed a step going downstairs. "I've had no word from you or Mum or Dad for ages so I assume everything went ok with the appeal?" He craned his neck, as if expecting Erin to pop up from behind the sofa. "She about? We could do with a catch-up. I want to tell her all about how I escaped those werewolves. It was a pretty mean feat, I'm not going to lie; I was outnumbered four to one by the end of it."

Vlad opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, unable to get his tongue to work. Ryan eyed him warily, as though fearing for his sanity.

"Vlad? Did you hear me? Is Erin about?"

Vlad felt as if he'd been slapped. This wasn't some sick joke- Ryan didn't know. Erin had been dead for over a fortnight and her own brother didn't know. How had they forgotten to tell him? How had Erin's _parents_ forgotten to tell him?

Vlad couldn't do this. He couldn't come out and say it. Saying the words out loud would make it all too real, too absolute. But Ryan was looking at him expectantly; Vlad swallowed hard, gripping the wooden arms of his chair.

"Ryan, I- I'm so sorry, I thought you knew…"

"Knew what? Vlad, what's going on?"

Vlad realised he was going to have to tell him. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the inevitable stab of white-hot guilt he knew would come. "Dead," he croaked. It was all he could manage. Already the backs of his eyes were burning painfully as the scene replayed in his mind, as it had done every day ceaselessly since it had happened. He watched Erin fall, saw the hole in her back, witnessed the red, red blood running freely from her wound. He shook his head slightly, as if in an attempt to dislodge the image.

"Dead? Who's dead?"

Ryan was going to make Vlad say it. He couldn't. It would make her death concrete, irreversible.

"Erin," Vlad whispered, his voice wavering violently. "Erin's dead." His entire body was trembling with the effort of not breaking down, of keeping himself together for Ryan's sake.

Ryan blinked. His eyes slid out of focus, and for a wild moment Vlad thought he was going to faint. He let out a long, deep sigh, running a hand through his soft brown hair, before dropping his elbow heavily onto the table and resting his forehead upon his clenched fist. He was taking deep, unnecessary breaths, his chest rising and falling; Vlad watched him in silence, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He didn't want to intrude upon the man's grief. He stood up quietly, intending to slip out of the room to give him some space.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Ryan's voice was husky, thick with emotion as he lifted his head to meet Vlad's eyes with an accusatory stare. Vlad paused, his hand on the door-handle.

"I was just-"

"Just getting out of the way before things turned nasty, were you?"

"No, no, course not, I-"

"How long's she been dead?" Ryan demanded harshly. His voice cracked painfully.

Vlad swallowed. "13th. 13th May…" he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Ryan looked hard at him for a moment, before suddenly jumping to his feet; he began to pace feverishly, his heavy footfalls pounding up and down on the Persian rug. Vlad watched him helplessly, desperately trying to fight the emotion battling to overcome him: _not here… not now… not in front of Ryan…_

Ryan stopped abruptly, twisting round to face Vlad again. "How?" he barked, blinking furiously. Vlad didn't understand.

"How- what?"

Ryan gave a roar of frustration. "_How did it happen_? How did she die?" Something suddenly seemed to click into place. "Was it you?" he asked dangerously, taking a threatening step towards Vlad. "Did you drain her? Because I swear to God, if you did, I'm going to-"

"Ryan, I loved her; do you really think I'd do something like that?"

"I knew it would only be a matter of time before you sunk your fangs into her, you bloody hypocrite! How does this tie in with your peace treaty, then?"

"IT WASN'T ME!" Vlad bellowed, and Ryan actually took a step back. "We were at the appeal and a gun went off! I think it was an accident- well, the person must have meant to fire the gun, but I don't think they meant to hit Erin-"

"Were they aiming for you?"

"Why would they have been? A bullet wouldn't have killed me."

"So why didn't you take it for her?"

"Because I didn't know it was coming! We were running, we had our backs to them; I pulled us both down as soon as I heard the shot but it was too late."

Ryan was shaking his head. "Not good enough, Vlad," he spat, his eyes flashing an ominous shade of red.

"If I could have taken the bullet for her, I would have; it all just happened too fast-"

"I don't want to hear your excuses-"

"They're not excuses, you weren't there! You didn't-"

"What the hell is going on?"

Both Vlad and Ryan spun round, startled by the new voice. Ingrid was stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the scene before her. Her gaze settled on Ryan and her lip visibly curled.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in disgust, looking the half-fang up and down as if he were something unpleasant she had found in one of Renfield's stews.

Ryan's face lit up. "Ingrid," he began, starting towards her, "You have no idea-"

"Save it," she snarled, holding a perfectly manicured hand up to silence him. He froze, unable to refuse a direct order. Ingrid turned her attention to her brother.

"Did you invite him?" she demanded. Vlad shook his head.

"He turned up looking for- you know," he finished lamely.

Ingrid did know. Her eyes widened and she looked back at Ryan; her face softened slightly.

"Had no-one told you?" she asked him, her voice a touch gentler. He shook his head, throwing Vlad a contemptuous glare.

Ingrid hissed sharply. "Bloody slayers," she growled, grinding her teeth.

"Aren't they legally required to inform all family members?" Vlad remembered Bertrand saying something about that in the first few days after it had happened.

"Ryan's technically classed as dead. They aren't obliged to contact him." Vlad heard the bitterness in his sister's voice, and wisely decided to retire and leave the pair to it. He placed a tentative hand on Ryan's arm as he walked towards the door.

"You have no idea how much I regret not being able to save her," he said quietly. "It's something I'll never forgive myself for."

Ryan avoided his gaze, his muscles tense beneath his touch; Vlad sighed, and moved away. He heard a broken cry from inside the room as soon as the door swung shut, and Ingrid's voice murmuring soothingly. He leant back against the door, straining to hear her words of comfort- but all he could pick up was a dull buzz of noise. The sound of Ryan's heartache cut through Vlad like a sword, and that terrible, terrible feeling of guilt threatened to overwhelm him once more.

Ryan was right. It wasn't good enough. Vlad should have taken the bullet for Erin. He knew she would have taken a stake for him.

His powers had been weakened by the argentilium; he had had his back to the slayers; he had been wholly focused on getting them through that door; but so what? He should have been alert, aware of the dangers around them. Bertrand always told him that "A loss of vigilance is a loss of life"- and it seemed, for once, he had been right.

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another flashback...**

Chapter 4

_The fire in the grate crackled merrily, the smell of burning wood curiously soothing. The last rays of the cold winter sunlight crept through a gap in the curtains, but Vlad, sprawled on the sofa in the dining room, couldn't summon up the energy to close them. Besides, the weight of Erin's head on his chest was just too pleasant for him to even think about moving. He reached out to take another chocolate from the tin of Quality Street- a present from Miss McCauley- placed conveniently close on the coffee table. He felt Erin shift slightly._

_"Pass me one, will you?" she mumbled sleepily. Vlad couldn't see her face, but he knew her eyes were closed._

_"Which?"_

_"Green triangle." Vlad scrabbled around in the tin for a few minutes, before his fingers brushed against the foil of the triangular chocolate. He unwrapped it clumsily._

_"Here," he said, holding it in front of her, "Open up."_

_Erin snorted softly. "As if," she said, reaching out for it; Vlad lifted his hand, holding it just out of arm's reach._

_"If you want it you'll have to let me feed it to you," he told her teasingly, avoiding another of her fervent attempts to grab the little chocolate._

_"I'm not a monkey, Vlad-"_

_"That'd be cute, though."_

_"Don't be an idiot!"_

_"Flattery will get you nowhere, sweetheart."_

_"Vlad!" she whined, her tiredness making her irritable._

_Vlad gave a mock sigh, grinning; he _did_ enjoy winding her up. "Is little Erin sleepy?" he cooed. "Does she want Vladdy to carry her up to bed?"_

_Erin scowled. "You wish," she muttered darkly, elbowing him sharply in his side, but she parted her lips grudgingly all the same. Vlad balanced the chocolate on her tongue and she closed her mouth around his fingers, flicking her tongue over the tips. Vlad gasped slightly, and felt Erin smirk around his hand._

_"And that's about as much action as you'll get if you ever call me 'little Erin' again," she told him sternly, pulling Vlad's fingers out of her mouth and chewing on the sweet. His hand slid up to rest on the top of her head; he stroked her hair gently, relishing its softness. He felt her relax under his touch, snuggling deeper into him. He draped his arm around her lazily, placing his hand on her waist. Her shirt had ridden up a fraction as she had moved, exposing a sliver of pale flesh; Vlad ran his thumb over it, and felt Erin jump slightly as his cool skin met her warm._

_They lay in silence for over half an hour, the fire burning lower and lower, until an unearthly glow was all that lit the darkening room. The sun had long since sunk beyond the horizon, but the dusk was cloudy, and no moon graced the vast winter sky. Erin's breathing had become slow and steady, her chest rising and falling rhythmically; Vlad's sensitive sense of smell picked up the musty scent of chocolate on her breath. He felt her shiver slightly, and pulled her tighter to him, plucking down the hem of her shirt down to cover the gap he had been running his thumb over. He closed his own eyes, Erin's warm weight a comfort to him as the shadows on the walls grew longer and the birds outside the window finished their song._

_It had been a lovely Christmas Day. Unusual, perhaps, and certainly not what Erin would have experienced at home: there had been no tree, no turkey, no tinsel gracing the mantelpiece. The Count, Ingrid and Bertrand had acted as if this was merely another day, looking daggers at Erin as she had bounded down to breakfast in her pyjamas to wish them all a merry Christmas. The Count had been in a foul mood- his mistletoe had been removed by the caretaker- yet Vlad and Erin had found it all strangely comical. Perhaps it was the combination of too much sugar and an almost unshakeable determination to be festive, but the golden alone time the pair had shared had been comparable to no afternoon Vlad could remember. Erin had phoned Ryan, and managed to wish him season's greetings without getting her head bitten off, and she and Vlad had exchanged gifts: a polo shirt for him, perfume for her. It wasn't what could be called a perfect Christmas, but a Christmas that Vlad would remember for years to come. The first Christmas he had ever enjoyed._

_"What _are_ you doing?"_

_Vlad jumped, very nearly dislodging Erin. He checked quickly to see that she was still asleep, before peering into the gloom that surrounded the doorway; he barely suppressed a groan as he realised his sister was standing there._

_"How do you manage to make those silent entrances all the time?" he asked her grumpily, shifting slightly so he could see her better. "You're like some sort of cat."_

_"I'll take that as a compliment," she said carelessly, sweeping over to the dining table. She pulled a chair out noisily, the legs scraping horribly on the wooden floor._

_"Shhhh!" Vlad hissed frantically, pointing at Erin. "She's asleep!"_

_Ingrid didn't even glance at her. "Tired her out, have you?" she asked, slender eyebrows raised. "What _have_ you been doing all afternoon?"_

_"Don't start, Ingrid," Vlad said irritably. Trust his sister to come in and spoil what had thus far been a conflict-free day. "Did you want something?" he pressed, when she made no move to speak._

_His sister smiled slightly. "I've got a message from Dad."_

_"And since when have you been anyone's dogsbody?"_

_"Season of goodwill and all that," she said breezily, getting gracefully to her feet and walking idly around the dining table, tracing a finger along the dark mahogany as if checking for dust. "He wants to know how long Erin's going to be staying here. It's been a month since we defeated Sethius- we don't need her anymore."_

_Vlad bristled. "_You_ might not need her anymore but _I_ do," he told her sharply. His father wasn't going to send Erin away, not a chance._

_"She ought to be back with her own kind," Ingrid reasoned. "How long are the two of you going to keep this up? If you don't bite her soon, she'll outgrow you and probably get done for dating a minor."_

_"Biting her is our decision, not yours or Dad's," Vlad snapped. Erin stirred slightly, and brother and sister fell silent for a moment. They watched her as she turned over so she was lying on her side, her left arm cradling her stomach and her right hanging off the sofa._

_"We haven't really spoken about it," Vlad continued quietly, when he was sure Erin was settled again. "I know she wants to be with me and I want to be with her, but you saw what Ryan's transformation did to him- I think she's terrified that the same will happen to her."_

_"Ryan's not as strong as Erin," came a new voice. "He didn't fight the evil inside of him; Erin will."_

_Vlad craned his neck, startled to see Bertrand emerge out of the shadows. He dropped his head back onto the arm of the sofa with a groan._

_"It's like Piccadilly Circus in here now," he grumbled. He eyed his tutor suspiciously. "Spying on us, were you?" he demanded savagely._

_"I like to think of it as maintaining your safety."_

_"Haven't you got anything better to do?"_

_"Well, as you're half an hour late for training, what else did you expect?"_

_Vlad checked his watch- 5:30pm. Damn. "It's Christmas Day," he pleaded, making a great show of yawning and stretching for Bertrand's benefit. "One day off? Please?"_

_"You'll feel it tomorrow," Bertrand warned. Vlad swallowed as he remembered something that would make his tutor even more displeased._

_"Yeah, about tomorrow… erm… Erin phoned Ryan- you remember who-"_

_"I remember who Ryan is," Bertrand said, a slight bite to his voice._

_Vlad hurried on. "Well, he asked Erin and I to meet up with him and we thought, as she hasn't seen him in weeks, we ought to take the opportunity while it was there…" he trailed off sheepishly, staring hard at the top of Erin's head so as to avoid meeting his tutor's stern gaze._

_Bertrand sighed- a long, heavy sigh, that of a man who has had his patience tested a little too often. He walked around the front of the sofa, so as to look Vlad in the eye._

_"You train tomorrow or you train today. One day off I can allow; two is fatal."_

_Vlad rolled his eyes at Bertrand's melodramatics. He couldn't wait till his eighteenth birthday; then _he_ would be the one calling the shots._

_"Fine," he snapped, making to sit up- but he had forgotten, momentarily, that Erin was lying on him. She jerked awake with a start, looking around wildly for the source of the disturbance. Vlad couldn't help but smile, despite the prospect of a gruelling training session, as he saw her tousled hair, her bleary eyes, her rumpled clothes: she looked rather like a woe-begotten teddy bear._

_"Feeding time at the zoo, is it?" she remarked acidly as she spotted Ingrid and Bertrand. She quickly smoothed down her clothes and made a vain attempt at flattening her hair, her cheekbones beginning to flush as their gaze remained fixed coolly upon her._

_"I'm late for training," Vlad told her, gesturing towards Bertrand. Erin looked appalled._

_"But it's Christmas!"_

_"Oh, don't be so pathetic," Ingrid said nastily, having now resettled herself at the dining table, "I'm sure you'll be cuddled up in Vlad's coffin later tonight."_

_This time Erin _did_ blush, a shocking shade of beetroot rising rapidly up her neck, until Vlad was sure that if he had put a hand to her forehead he would have scalded himself._

_"We haven't- we don't- we've never-" she stammered, determinedly avoiding looking at Bertrand, whose gaze had hardened. She turned to stare accusingly at Vlad. "Have you said-" she began, her eyes wide with mortification. Vlad shook his head frantically._

_"Course not!" he said, slightly indignant. She had a higher opinion of him than that, surely? "Look, I can't get off training tonight if we want to see Ryan tomorrow."_

_"Surely-"_

_"I'll see you in a couple of hours," he interrupted firmly. Erin scowled at him but nodded frostily, and the pair went their separate ways, Ingrid smirking slightly as she pulled the dining room door shut._

**TBC...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I am terrified that I am making this story too angsty. I really don't want it to be one intense, emotional, angsty chapter after another which is what I feel it is turning out to be. I just don't want everyone to get irritated! Thoughts, anyone?**


	5. Chapter 5

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: A happy new year to you all! I know it's a bit late, but ah well. As the dark, ominous cloud that is the beginning of the spring term looms ever closer, I would like to take this opportunity to wish all of you who have exams coming up the best of luck. I myself have a Sociology AS on Friday and I am SO SCARED! Still, blinding terror aside, I hope you all enjoy Chapter 5 :)_

Chapter 5

"You may be wondering why I have set up this meeting, Mr Count, given the, er- the _demise_ of our client," Bryant began, fiddling with the cufflink on his left sleeve. Vlad could tell it was made of pure silver. "However, I felt obliged to let you know that there are- ah- certain _avenues_ of action you may wish to explore."

Vlad narrowed his eyes. He wasn't entirely sure what Bryant was getting at, but from the way the man was fidgeting uncharacteristically Vlad could tell that it was a delicate subject. He slipped into a stupor as the lawyer prattled on about procedure and protocol and sensitivity, allowing his eyes to wander around the dull, shabby little office that he had visited more times than he had cared to.

"So does that sound like something you would be interested in?" he finished, his eyes flicking expectantly between the two vampires sitting opposite him.

Vlad didn't even try to be polite. "Does what sound like something we'd be interested in?" he asked dully. Bryant blinked.

"What I- just said…" he trailed off, eyeing Vlad in confusion.

"I stopped listening," Vlad informed him matter-of-factly; he had no patience for pleasantries. The lawyer gaped at him, seemingly unaccustomed to such insolence from a minor- before remembering exactly what Vlad was, and pulling himself together.

"Right- ok- of course-" he muttered, shuffling his case notes awkwardly. He took a deep, calming breath, before looking Vlad straight in the eye.

"I understand that this is a difficult time for you, Mr Count. You have my deepest sympathy- indeed, that of everyone at Bryant and Co. One can only imagine what you and your family-"

"Just get to the point," Vlad told him in a bored voice, looking pointedly at his watch. He felt Bertrand bristle next to him. He ignored him.

Bryant's eyes hardened a fraction. "The death of Miss Noble was, of course, a tragic accident, but there _are_ certain steps we can take that would bring the culprit to justice."

Vlad's ears pricked up. He tried to maintain his sulky demeanour, but couldn't keep the interest out of his voice.

"Like what?"

Bryant smiled knowingly. "It was a certain Mr Thomas Golding who fired the fatal shot, as you know. Whilst he has been released from custody-"

"Slayer custody?" Vlad interjected. Bryant nodded.

"Whilst he has been released from custody that does not stop us from pursuing our own line of enquiry."

"How so?" Bertrand enquired, leaning forward. Vlad noted the familiar look of mistrust on his tutor's face. "If the slayers have already let him go-"

To Vlad's surprise, Bryant let out a raucous chuckle.

"My dear Bertrand," he laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder, "My dear, dear Bertrand. I have my messengers; I have my informants. If we want to bring the lad in for a little questioning and then take the case up with the slayers it is well within our power to do so. Just because they have let him off without a rap to the knuckles doesn't mean that we have to."

"He deserves more than a bloody rap to the knuckles," Vlad muttered darkly. Bryant nodded at him approvingly.

"And that can be arranged, Mr Count; all you need do is ask."

"And you'll what? Hunt him down and beat him to a pulp?" Bertrand asked tartly, his eyebrows threatening to disappear into his curly hair. Vlad stared at him- he was supposed to be a vampire, for God's sake. That's what vampires did.

Bryant laughed again. "Bertrand, my boy, I am not the Mafia. I cannot arrange murders or 'accidents' and neither would I want to: too messy."

"So what are you suggesting, then?" The bite of impatience in Bertrand's voice was all too plain. Now who was being impudent?

"We take it one stage at a time. There's no point in diving in all guns blazing-" Vlad winced at his choice of metaphor- "But we can certainly set the ball rolling. Lodge an official complaint with the Guild, then take it from there."

Vlad chanced a sideways glance at Bertrand. He didn't look distrustful now- he looked downright furious.

"I would have thought," he began, spreading his palms on the surface of the scuffed wooden desk, "That being an 'expert' would have taught you a little more diplomacy. Vlad is seventeen- he's just lost his girlfriend- the expectations of our kind rest on his shoulders and you're encouraging him to take revenge on some puny little slayer?" The glacial tone of his voice sliced through Vlad like a carving knife.

Bryant spluttered, drawing himself up. "Don't talk about what you don't understand, Bertrand," he exclaimed indignantly. "If Vlad wants to bring this slayer to justice then he is well within his rights-"

"You're just dragging it out, putting ideas into his head! He needs to move on, not obsess over court cases. He turns eighteen in less than a month-"

"And is therefore more than capable of making his own decisions!"

"Don't talk to me like you know him."

"You're not his father, Bertrand-"

The pair were cut off by the slamming of the office door. They looked around wildly- to find nothing but an empty seat. Vlad had walked out.

* * *

"Vlad! Wait!" Bertrand called, jogging the length of the dingy corridor to catch up with him. Vlad ignored him- if it hadn't been for the wards protecting the building he would have taken off for home there and then.

"_Vlad_!"

The Chosen One swung round, irritation surging through him like static. "_What_?" he snapped aggressively, squaring up to his tutor as he approached. He was fed up of it- fed up of everyone treating him like a kid.

"You can't just walk out like that, it's disrespectful!"

Vlad gave a hearty, sarcastic laugh. "Oh! _You_ want to teach _me_ about manners? Ok, alright then, Bertrand, I'll just have a shouting match with the only guy who's willing to help us, in his own office, while the person you're shouting about is actually sat in the room! How's that for etiquette?" he snarled, the final word coming out as a hiss as his fangs threatened to drop. They hadn't dropped since the night of Erin's death and he could feel them beginning to ache as he forced them to remain in his gums.

"Look, Vlad, you're upset, I get it-"

"No! No, you don't! You've never lost anyone; you don't know what it's like!"

Vlad fell silent, his hands trembling slightly. He wasn't sure if he had crossed a line; Bertrand's expression was unreadable. He seemed to be undergoing some form of internal struggle. He looked angry, but not as angry as Vlad had expected him to be.

"You-" the tutor began, and Vlad was shocked to hear his voice was thick with emotion, "You are just…" He stopped again, taking a shuddering, needless breath. Vlad eyed him warily- Bertrand was always so calm, so impeccably collected, so emotionally _dead_. Was all this an act?

"Did Erin- never tell you?" he managed to force out, ignoring Vlad's hiss as he spoke her name. He had recently come close to banning it from being said in his presence.

"Tell me what?" he asked suspiciously. They had agreed to no more secrets, hadn't they? Though that hadn't really worked out, he thought savagely. She hadn't even seen fit to tell him that the slayers were going to hang her.

_No. That's not fair. She did it to protect you. You know that._

"Tell me what?" he repeated. Bertrand swallowed.

"I thought she would have- she- you and her-"

"_What_?" Vlad almost yelled. He felt cold at the thought of Erin and Bertrand sharing cosy little chats, swapping dark little secrets without him knowing. He took a threatening step closer to his tutor. "As the Chosen One-"

"Yes, yes, alright, you don't need to command me!" Bertrand snapped, all traces of sentiment gone as the smooth, impenetrable mask slid back into place. "It was just something I told Erin before… when we were in Leicester that time, do you remember?"

"Of course I remember, it was only two months ago," Vlad snarled churlishly. He was definitely suspicious now. Just what _had_ gone on beneath that oak tree? All manner of thoughts crossed his mind, not all of them clean, but he pushed them away lest any of them stray across the telepathic connection to Bertrand's mind. Besides, he had trusted Erin. It was an insult to her memory to think like that.

"It's nothing. I just thought…" Bertrand trailed off, his brow furrowed. "I thought she'd have told you, that's all. Looks like she had more respect for me than I thought."

Vlad snorted. "Don't start putting your rose-tinted glasses on now, Bertrand, for God's sake," he said spitefully, moving away from his tutor to glare at the two fire extinguishers attached to the wall. "You hated her- we both know it-"

"I didn't hate her-"

"So don't start pretending that the two of you were the best of friends now that she's gone. We both know you couldn't care less."

Bertrand looked at Vlad for a long moment. He seemed to be turning something over in his brain, weighing up the outcomes of what he was about to say. The concentration on the man's face was almost mesmerising; Vlad shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze.

"You don't have to do this, Vlad," he said eventually. Vlad didn't even look at him.

"Do what?"

Bertrand sighed. "Pretend. I know I'm not a touchy-feely person but I'm always here if you need to talk. Believe it or not I do know how you're feeling."

Vlad appraised him coldly, a sneer curling the corners of his mouth. "Who says I'm pretending?" He stepped even closer to his tutor, so they were practically nose to nose. "It wasn't like she and I were the real deal. As you said, Bertrand: first loves don't last forever."

_TBC..._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: If anyone is confused, I suggest you revisit Chapters 12 and 19 of 'Redemption'. Please let me know what you think :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to all of you who responded to my quick question. A slight crisis of confidence, but I am now back with vigour and very excited about what is to come in the rest of this story! This is a longer chapter in celebration of the end of my exams :) and slightly racier than what you would usually see from me. This is actually the first chapter of this fic that I wrote, when there seemed to be raciness popping up in fics here, there and everywhere. Don't get too excited, though: it's nothing too saucy. Anyway, enjoy!**

Chapter 6

_The ornate clock in the entrance hall chimed half-past seven. Vlad opened the curtains a fraction, peering out into the thick blanket of darkness; a sliver of moonlight had managed to squeeze its way through the trees, lighting a shimmering patch of snow. He tapped his foot impatiently- they were going to be late. The Midwinter Ball began promptly at eight, and if the Chosen One wasn't there to open it the High Council would view it as disrespectful._

_"Erin!" he called up the stairs. "Erin, you nearly ready?"_

_"In a minute!" she snapped, and Vlad sighed irritably. _Why_ did girls take so long to get ready? All he'd had to do was throw his best suit on, get Renfield to do his tie, drag a comb through his hair and he was good to go. In ten minutes. Tops._

_He ignored the exasperated sigh from Ingrid, who was lolling in an armchair near the door. She looked stunning; a floor-length black dress, cut daringly low, covered with expensive black lace. It had been Magda's, Vlad knew, and while he was surprised that Ingrid was wearing anything their mother had even touched, he had to admit that she would be drawing the eye of every eligible bachelor in the ballroom tonight- and most probably the ineligible ones as well. The Count was hovering by the honours board, dressed in his finest leather cape with his black hair, gleaming even more than usual, tied back in an elegant ponytail with a velvet ribbon. Bertrand stood rigidly at Ingrid's side. The brass buttons on his military finest caught the light, yet they did little to distract from the burnished row of war medals adorning his strong, toned chest._

_A small cough from behind him caused Vlad to swing round. "Oh, about ti-," he began, before the words died on his lips._

_Erin was stood at the top of the stairs, smiling down at Vlad. She hesitated for a second, before placing her hand on the bannister and making her way, slowly, down the staircase. Vlad could only stare. He had never seen her look like this before. The only two occasions he had seen her in a dress she had either been crying or stuck on a balcony for ten hours. Now, however, now she looked… was radiant the word? No, something seemed to radiate _from_ her, a certain joy, a certain euphoria, which poured out of her like sunshine._

_The dress was long, like Ingrid's, falling just short of the floor. Vlad was relieved- he'd been worried that she'd turn up in one of those skimpy little numbers that were so fashionable at the moment. It was light blue, bringing out the colour of her eyes, and the tight bodice highlighted her petite waist. The diamond drops hanging from her ears flashed in the lamplight, momentarily blinding Vlad, and the small but ample heels she wore made her only about an inch shorter than him._

_Erin cleared her throat again as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the flush staining her cheeks proof of her embarrassment at making such a dramatic entrance. She glanced quickly round at the rest of the clan before fixing her gaze on Vlad._

_"Do I look alright, then?" she asked him, slightly breathlessly._

_Vlad hesitated, unsure of how to proceed diplomatically. She looked more than alright, she looked bloody stunning- but he had spotted a problem._

_"Don't you think you might be…" he began, before trailing off helplessly. He ignored Ingrid's titter in the background._

_"What?" Erin asked. Her tone was casual enough, but Vlad spotted the way she tensed slightly, absent-mindedly smoothing down the netted skirt of the dress._

_"You might be… I mean, I love it, you look great, but… don't you think you might be- asking for trouble?"_

_There was a tense, uncomfortable silence. Bertrand, still standing to attention, looked almost insulted at Vlad's tactlessness. Erin's eyes narrowed. "Asking for trouble?" she repeated, unable to keep the bite out of her voice. Vlad nodded, moving forward to place his hand on her bare shoulder. While he had never seen his girlfriend look more beautiful in all her time at Garside, he thought a strapless dress might be a bad move. It was tasteful, of course, and she was certainly showing less cleavage than Ingrid; but the way the dress exposed her shoulders, her collar-bone, her milky décolletage and pale, slender neck… it was tempting, Vlad couldn't deny it. As much as he hated himself for it, the beauty of Erin's creamy skin called out to him, as if begging him to sink his fangs into it, to mark it forever, to make it truly his._

_"I- I, erm-" he stuttered, swallowing hard as Erin's eyes began to blaze, "I just think that walking into a room full of blood-thirsty vampires with your neck exposed might not be the wisest move."_

_"I'm wearing my stasis spray; they won't be able to tell I'm a breather."_

_"I'd rather not take the risk. You know what some of the Council are like-"_

_"So you want me to change, then, is that what you're saying?"_

_Vlad was relieved she'd cottoned on so quickly. "Yeah, thanks, that'd be great."_

_There was a delighted gasp from behind him. He turned round, perplexed, to see Ingrid grinning at him gleefully._

_"Bad move, little brother," she said with relish, nodding at Erin. Vlad spun back round to see her storming up the stairs. He felt a swoop of exasperation._

_"Oh, come on, Erin, don't be like that-"_

_"You may be the Chosen One, Vlad, but you're not so high-and-mighty that you're going dictate what I wear and when I wear it!"_

_"I'm only thinking of you-"_

_"Your reputation, more like-"_

_"For God's sake!" Bertrand roared. The pair was stunned into a sudden silence, both of them twisting to scowl at the tutor. "Erin," he continued, "Get down here now and stop being such a drama queen. Vlad, she's going to be absolutely fine, man up a bit, please. And Ingrid," he added, turning to face the eldest Dracula sibling, "Stop stirring." She hissed at him, before flouncing out of the door and taking flight huffily._

_Erin made her way back down the stairs. "Sorry," she muttered to Vlad, her face burning a fiery shade of red. "I'll change if you want me to."_

_Vlad placed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Don't," he whispered to her, "You look amazing. I just don't want anyone to take you from me."_

_"They won't. I won't let them."_

_Vlad leaned in, his lips barely a centimetre from hers. He could smell the perfume on her neck. Her eyelids fluttered closed-_

_"Are we going to this ball or not, then?" the Count demanded, and the moment was lost. Vlad closed his own eyes for a moment, praying for patience; he gathered Erin into his arms and they took off into the night, the Count and Bertrand not far behind._

* * *

_"You really did look stunning tonight, you know that?"_

_Erin laughed. "We both scrub up quite well, don't we?" She paused, stroking Vlad's hair affectionately. She twined a piece round her fingers, giggling as he batted her hand away. They were sat side by side on his sofa- it was past two o'clock in the morning, yet neither Vlad nor Erin were feeling tired. The evening had been a great success. Ingrid had danced with nearly every man in the room, including, to the Count's displeasure, Bertrand, and Vlad and Erin had been joined at hip, sometimes dancing, sometimes just making small talk with the other guests. Erin hadn't said much, but Vlad knew that was shyness. It wasn't often that they left the confines of the school, and the ball had been a refreshing break from the monotony of their usual lesson-filled days. Vlad had strangely enjoyed mixing with his own kind for a change; and no-one, apart from a drunken old codger who had been promptly escorted off the premises, had lunged for Erin's neck._

_But Vlad couldn't control himself any longer. He leant in, slowly so as not to startle her, and pressed an assured, almost possessive kiss to her pulse point. She gasped, her eyes fluttering closed before she reached up to caress Vlad's own neck. Her touch made him shiver, alerting each of his heightened senses, and he captured her lips urgently, biting down firmly on her bottom lip. She allowed him access immediately; their tongues battled for dominance, before Vlad slipped his cool hands onto the back of Erin's shoulders. She gasped, arching into him, and Vlad suddenly grabbed her round the waist, pulling her flush against him. He rolled them off the sofa, taking the brunt of the impact as they landed on the floor of his room. He rolled Erin beneath him, pinning her wrists unyieldingly to the floorboards. He stared down at her hungrily, the sight of her immobilised beneath him almost too much for him to handle._

God_, he wanted her._

_He didn't think he'd ever wanted her so much. She was so vulnerable, yet so strong; so sweet, and yet so feisty. The demureness of her dress coupled with the sheer amount of luscious skin exposed to him did nothing to aid his self-control. He heard her breathing hitch and sensed her heart-rate increase, and knew, however much she hated to admit it, that it thrilled her when he took control. He was always so careful with her, so adorably gentle, that on the rare occasions he threw caution to the wind and played rough it made her breath catch in her throat. The unpredictability of it all was what excited her, and Vlad, though he knew it was wrong, relished the feeling of control he had over the slight little thing struggling beneath him._

_She always put up a fight, unable to accept her own compliance, and Vlad was glad of it; if she gave in to him straight off it took away the fun. He flicked his tongue out, the tip just grazing the sensitive spot of Erin's neck- she hissed in pleasure, and he clamped his lips down upon hers again._

_Something was different that night, Vlad could tell; he could almost taste it in the air. There was a sense of boldness about the pair of them, of courage and daring, yet a deeply-ingrained sense of trust. Vlad knew Erin trusted him not to hurt her- more, if he was honest, than he trusted himself. He was terrified of causing her harm, but tonight he was positive that he could push it just that little bit further._

_Vlad began to trail kisses down Erin's neck, nibbling ever so slightly at the tender flesh there. She moaned, squirming desperately in Vlad's tight hold; he bit down slightly harder on her collar-bone and she squealed, twitching involuntarily beneath him._

_"Let- me- go," she gasped, the note of delighted anguish in her voice only serving to incite Vlad's excitement further. She strained against him- he tightened his grip._

_There were only two barriers separating them now, only two layers stopping Vlad from touching Erin's beautiful body: his suit, and the thin, flimsy material that was Erin's dress. The skirt of it had ridden up badly, and a pale, lithe leg was exposed to him, well above the knee. He managed to pin Erin's wrists down with only one hand before snaking his free hand up her left thigh. He stroked her hip-bone with his thumb, making her squeak, before, with a surge of recklessness, he hooked his finger over the top of her underwear-_

_It was as if Erin had been electrocuted. She shot away from Vlad as though his touch had burnt her. She caught him by surprise, and his grip on her instinctively slackened as he sensed her distress. She scrambled to her feet, stumbling slightly in her long dress; leaning against the door of Vlad's room, bright red in the face, her chest was heaving. Vlad swallowed down his frustration as he realised that the tension currently building in the lower half of his body wasn't going to be relieved. He heaved himself to his feet, wiping away the droplets of sweat that had formed on his forehead with his sleeve. A pause. One in which Vlad tried his best not to stare accusingly at Erin, and Erin endeavoured to avoid looking at Vlad at all._

_"I'm sorry," she whispered eventually, her voice wavering as she strived to keep the hot tears from spilling out onto her burning cheeks. "I'm so sorry… I don't know what happened, I- I just felt your hand there and I panicked and-"_

_Vlad strode over to her, pulling her into his embrace. His annoyance had dissipated almost at once. "Don't you dare say sorry," he murmured. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have dived in like that-"_

_"I didn't mean to lead you on-"_

_"You didn't, Erin, you didn't. It's not you."_

_They stood like that for a while, Vlad tenderly stroking Erin's hair as her head rested against his chest. He knew he shouldn't have done it, he knew he should have asked her first- but he had been so sure, somehow, that it had been one of _those_ moments. Like in the films, when it all just happened, and it was romantic yet passionate and utterly perfect all at the same time._

_"I'll be ready soon, Vlad, I promise," Erin mumbled thickly, seemingly in an attempt to convince herself as much as him. "I just need to get a grip on myself."_

_"I don't care if you're ready next week, next month or next year. I don't care if you're not ready for another ten years. I'm happy to wait, Erin. I don't expect anything from you."_

_Erin sniffed. "You know I love you, Vlad. I really do."_

_"I love you, too."_

_"I'm just… I'm not ready. Not yet."_

_Vlad pushed what he was sure had been an unspoken "Not ever" to the back of his mind as he closed his eyes and pulled her tighter to him._

**TBC...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Posts from here onwards shall be Wednesday and Friday nights. However, this is liable to change depending on my homework situation, so keep an eye on your email inboxes! I hope everyone's exams have gone/ are going well and, as always, R&R! Much love to you all.**


	7. Chapter 7

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope everyone who's had exams recently got on alright. We can all enjoy a bit of down-time now for a bit before the noses return to the grindstone! Enjoy Chapter 7 :)_

Chapter 7

Bertrand did a double-take. "When did I say that?" he demanded defensively.

Vlad laughed; a hollow, unearthly sound. "You don't remember? It wasn't _that_ long ago. It was the night Erin…" He suddenly trailed off, losing himself in the realisation.

"The night Erin…?" Bertrand prompted.

Vlad swallowed, feeling unexplainably light-headed. "The night it all started."

"The night _what_ all started?"

"The night where everything started to go wrong." He could still see it all clearly in his mind; still hear Erin scream, still feel the back of his hand connecting with her face, still see the bruise and the blood and the tears.

His tears, not hers. She hadn't cried; not in front of him, anyway. Hers had sparkled in her eyes but she hadn't let them fall. She had been proud like that, Vlad thought grimly- she had hated people to see her cry. It was easier for her to push people away than to show them any kind of weakness. Distancing herself from her pain had been her only form of protection from the poisonous, infectious evil that had surrounded her, threatening to consume her, to devour her as it had done to Ingrid, the Count, Bertrand and even Ryan.

But then she had left, causing Vlad and Bertrand to embark upon a kind of mad road-trip that involved them trawling the East Midlands in its entirety. And then there had been all the trouble with the slayers, and the trial, and the…

Vlad did wonder, sometimes, when he lay awake at nights- replaying her death over and over again in his head, trying desperately to convince himself that there was nothing he could have done, that he couldn't have saved her- whether, if he hadn't hit her that night, she would still be alive. If his actions hadn't somehow pushed a metaphorical button of sorts, set off a chain of events that, once started, couldn't be stopped until they had reached their completion. Like some damned juggernaut.

No. He was being paranoid. The slayers' letter would have arrived regardless of whether he had hit Erin or not. The trial would still have happened, the appeal, the… but maybe, if he hadn't hit her, she would have felt able to confide in him about the death sentence? That bond of trust between them wouldn't have been broken, and Vlad would have had the time to beat the slayers at their own game? And then, then they never would have been in the position where…

"Vlad?"

The young vampire blinked, disorientated. "Yeah?"

"I said I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Bertrand stared at him. "For saying that first loves don't last for ever," he said slowly, a strange expression on his face as he looked at Vlad critically. "I don't remember saying it, but I'm sorry all the same. It wasn't my place to say something like that."

Vlad nodded, not really listening. He was trying to work out why Bertrand was looking at him like that. He'd never seen that expression on his tutor's face before; it was almost concern, yet Vlad knew that was absurd. Bertrand, concerned, for him? The idea was ludicrous, to say the least-

And then Vlad got it. It wasn't concern. It was _pity_. Bertrand was feeling _sorry_ for him.

Vlad felt as if he had missed a step going downstairs. He didn't need to be pitied; he didn't want anyone's sympathy. He wasn't a charity case, someone to be patted on the back and whispered about behind closed doors. Erin was dead, but so what? He'd known her what, six, seven months? And he'd been dating her even less. Everyone seemed to think that he was going through some sort of unbearable emotional turmoil, that he was messed up in the head but he wasn't. He _wasn't_.

So Bertrand needed to wipe that sad, condescending look off his face before Vlad did it for him.

"You're right," Vlad snarled, "It wasn't your place to say that. You're always overstepping the mark, aren't you? Shoving your nose in where it's not wanted, meddling in people's private affairs; if you just got on with your job-"

"With all due respect, Vlad, _you_ came to _me_."

"Your presence in my household, your livelihood is solely due to my generosity! If I want your advice I have a right to seek it- but only if I want it."

"Vlad, just calm down, alright? You're not really making sense."

Bertrand wasn't shouting. He still had that infuriating look on his face. It made Vlad sick to think that the man actually felt _sorry_ for him; it was all he could do not to scream with rage.

"You would speak to your own leader in such a way?" he thundered, drawing himself up. "What the _hell_ do you think gives you the authority to-"

"Because I know you're acting, Vlad," Bertrand interrupted smoothly. "I know you're lashing out at me because you don't want to confront your emotions."

"We're vampires, we don't have emotions," Vlad spat. "We bite, we drain, we feed, we kill-"

"And yet how many times have you cried since May 13th?"

It was as if Bertrand had punched him. Vlad couldn't control himself any longer; he lunged at his tutor with a war-cry, pummelling his strong chest, only sorry that there wasn't a stake in sight for him to drive through the man's heart. He thought he was so _smart_, he thought he was so _clever_, he thought he knew all about Vlad but he didn't know anything, not one thing-

Bertrand staggered backwards slightly under the force of the blows raining down upon his chest, but he caught Vlad's wrists in his hands and wrestled him to the floor, pinning him there. Vlad was snarling, cursing, his mouth uttering a positive torrent of profanities- before, to his utter horror, he realised that there were tears pouring down his face. He struggled harder, yelling at Bertrand for all he was worth, but exhaustion eventually took a hold of him and he flopped back onto the floor, gasping for unneeded breaths, his body limp.

"There we are," Bertrand said bluntly, loosening his hold slightly, "Glad you've got that out of your system."

If looks could kill Bertrand would have been a pile of ash quicker than he could have said 'garlic'. Vlad summoned all his remaining strength and broke free of his tutor's grasp, brushing himself down and wiping his face angrily with his sleeve.

"You…" he began in a shaking voice, "You would dare…" He couldn't finish. The passionate fire of rage burning inside of him was fast being replaced by a cold, glacial fury. He turned on his heel at an angle that would have cut glass and stalked back along the corridor towards the exit.

"Make the necessary arrangements with Bryant," he called over his shoulder. "I want Golding brought in for questioning."

"But Vlad-"

Vlad clicked his fingers: the glass in the row of frosted windows running the length of the corridor shattered, sharp fragments flying everywhere. Bertrand yelped in shock, shielding his face. Vlad felt the cool air whooshing in through the now-empty window frames, and, for the first time, relished the infinity of his powers. He no longer feared his abilities. They could come in useful, especially if he was going to have to put up with vampires like Bertrand on an increasingly frequent basis.

"You crossed a line," he informed his tutor in a dark, bizarrely threatening monotone. "Think yourself lucky I haven't driven one of those shards into your heart." He resumed walking. "Talk to Bryant. I want that Golding bastard brought to justice."

"Vlad-"

"JUST DO IT!" Vlad roared. He could have sworn he saw that damn look of pity appear in the tutor's eyes again before he nodded curtly, striding into Bryant's office and leaving Vlad alone in the corridor.

* * *

As soon as Vlad stepped out of the front door of the building, thankfully protected from the sun by the gaudy, red and white striped awning that helped the firm to masquerade as a disused grocery shop, he took off for home. The flight, though barely a minute long, was immensely refreshing after the stifling heat of Bryant's office. The heater was always _on_, Vlad grumbled to himself; he could understand it in March, but not in May. Landing slightly flat-footed in his room he stumbled, throwing out a hand to clutch the edge of his coffin to keep himself upright.

"Smooth."

Vlad whipped around to see Ingrid lounging on his sofa- he could have thrown something at her.

"For God's sake!" he roared, kicking his coffin in frustration, "_Why_ are you everywhere I go? Do you follow me around or something? It's like having a stalker."

"Don't flatter yourself," Ingrid said coolly, patting her hair in a self-satisfied fashion. "You're not even remotely special. Or worth my time. But there's not much to do around here and I do _so_ enjoy winding you up."

"Pretty pathetic if that's the way you get your kicks," Vlad snarled, striding over to the door and wrenching it open pointedly. Ingrid ignored it.

"I'm only looking out for you, Vlad," she said loftily, admonishing him with a prim look. "Better I'm there to pick up the pieces when you go bats than a hoard of breathers."

"I'm not going to go bats!"

"It's only a matter of time," she said in a sing-song voice, the pious look on her face only serving to infuriate Vlad further. He ground his teeth in frustration.

"Like you did, you mean?" he spat, his anger cooling to icy rage. "What was it- making the streets of Stokely run red with blood? Only it didn't really work, did it?"

Ingrid jumped to her feet. "If you only knew how many breathers I bit, Vlad, you wouldn't sleep for a week," she growled, taking a menacing step towards her brother. He reciprocated with a larger step of his own.

"Your lack of self-control doesn't impress me, Ingrid," he whispered, his tone full of glacial contempt. "Your biting days are numbered. On June 25th I shall be crowned Grand High Vampire and then- then we'll see who'll be winding who up."

Ingrid snorted. "Is that the best you can do?" she scoffed. "If that's the extent of your threats, Vlad, then I wait in eagerness for June 25th. As your delightful breather friends like to say: bring it on." With that, she turned on her unthinkably expensive heel and glided from the room, Vlad practically gnashing his fangs in her wake.

_TBC..._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: One would just like to draw your attention to my new fic 'Solidarity'. It's set in November 1917 and follows the lovely Bertrand du Fortunesa as he prepares to fight the Germans in the Battle of Cambrai. Take a look at it if you can, I am really loving writing it :) I hope everyone else's fics are going well._


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: You may recall that in Chapter 19 of 'Repercussions' I wrote that Erin was shot in the small of her back. In my infinite biological wisdom, I thought that the small of the back was the area between one's shoulder blades. Turns out it is not. Therefore, I have made a slight amendment to that chapter, so that Erin ****_was_**** in fact shot between her shoulder blades and not in what is actually the small of the back. If that makes any sense at all. Hard to believe I got an A in GCSE Biology, isn't it? Oh and this has been my favourite chapter to write so far. Just in case anyone was interested. Enjoy!**

Chapter 8

_The world had started to spin- it wavered in and out of focus, twisting and tumbling. Vlad suddenly felt cold, very cold: colder than he'd ever felt in his unlife. An icy sweat was breaking out over his skin, dampening his back, his underarms, his upper lip, his forehead. He could see the blackness gathering in the corners of his eyes, threatening to consume him; he shook his head slightly, like a dog trying to rid its fur of water, blinking hard. There was an odd buzzing in his ears. The commotion of the courtroom sounded strangely muffled to him now. His teeth were beginning to chatter from the cold, and he couldn't seem to stop himself from shivering. Curious._

_His hands were clammy with moisture as he extended an arm to check Erin's pulse. His fingers were shaking too badly to take a proper reading. As soon as he touched the soft, still-warm skin, Vlad's gleaming fangs glided down effortlessly. The sweet, sugary scent of her blood was intoxicating. Almost as though he was being drawn towards it by a magnetic force, Vlad leant closer to Erin's neck, pausing to admire the beauty of the unspoilt skin. She was dead, or dying. She was powerless to resist him now._

_"VLAD!" shrieked a voice from above him. Vlad twisted round just in time- to see a stake flying towards him at an alarming speed. He clicked his fingers and it exploded into splinters; he cackled madly as he saw the look of horror on Erin's father's face._

_"It's going to take a lot more than that to stop me from taking what's mine, Noble," Vlad sang gleefully, his eyes as black and as glittering as coal chips. There was nothing more going through his mind than an overwhelming, almost painful desire to bite the girl lying in front of him: and not just bite. Drain. Feed off. Suck the life-blood out of. He had been tempted by the delightful scent for too long now, and it was about time he tasted it. The darkness, the darkness of one thousand reflections had been so long suppressed that Vlad could almost feel it raging within him, tearing rabidly at his insides in its desperation to sink its terrifyingly sharp fangs into Erin's neck while it still could. His hand trailed up Erin's right arm, coming to rest just shy of the bullet wound between her shoulder blades. The blood was still flowing thick and fast, running ceaselessly down her back, the dark stain spreading across her dress._

_Such a waste._

_Vlad caressed the wound, his fingers becoming soaked in sticky liquid as he stroked it gently, almost reverently. Feeling the warm substance on his flesh was an odd sensation: one he had never experienced before, but one that certainly wasn't unpleasant. Thoughtfully, Vlad raised his hand to his mouth- and licked away the droplets of blood. He barely registered the gasps and cries of revulsion as an explosion went off in his brain. Yes. Oh, yes. This was how it was meant to be. This was why breathers were on the earth. Not to be made peace with, but to be made meals of. It was marvellous, really, that such a normal-looking girl could taste so divine. If only a few drops of this exquisite red substance could do this to him then imagine what nine pints would do. And who was to stop him? Certainly not her. And he'd be damned if he let one of these slayers get between him and his meal. It was nearly 10pm and he hadn't eaten since lunch- he was _yearning_ for some sustenance, a long, hearty drink that would be worthy of the Chosen One…_

_"As pleasant a surprise as your new-found bloodlust is," the Count began drily from behind him, "I doubt you'll thank me for it later if I let you drain the slayer girl." He grasped his son's shoulders firmly, preventing him from lunging forward to plunge his fangs into his girlfriend's neck._

_Vlad snarled at him, attempting in vain to throw his father off. "She's mine, back off."_

_The Count wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Really," he sighed, "Such selfishness. I think you've been spending too much time with Ingrid." He tried to haul his son to his feet, but Vlad wouldn't budge._

_"You would let all this go to waste?" he hissed, gesturing to Erin's lifeless body. "Don't tell me you haven't been gagging to drain her since you first found out she was a breather."_

_The Count struggled with himself for a moment, clearly trying to devise a new tactic. "That is irrelevant," he snapped eventually, keeping his gaze determinedly averted from the smear of blood at the corner of Vlad's mouth. "I don't want to be on the receiving end of the backlash when you come to your senses tomorrow."_

_"Oh, why don't you just go bite-"_

_The sudden blaring of alarms put an end to the argument. The chandelier above their heads swung precariously as the thumping of feet was heard on the upper floors. The lights flickered on and off, obviously intending to disorientate any intruders: the scene resembled the beginnings of an air raid. The Count, screwing up his face in discomfort, took advantage of the distraction and hauled his son to his feet. Vlad staggered drunkenly, clutching his hands over his ears; his eyes watering, he sought out Ingrid and Bertrand. It appeared they, too, had flown down from the balcony: they were currently attempting to hold back the mob of angry slayers._

_"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't stake you right now!"_

_"Who fired that gun?"_

_"Who's got a weapon?"_

_"He's going to drain her, do something, somebody!"_

_"Who fired the gun?"_

_"Call an ambulance, for the love of God!"_

_"Who set the alarms off?"_

_ "WHO FIRED THE GUN?"_

_"We can't hold them off for much longer!" Bertrand called over his shoulder to the Count. "Just get out of here, we'll catch you up!"_

_The shock of the deafening alarms had dragged Vlad back from the precipice of the abyss. Horror, remorse, terror, guilt all gripped him as the reality of what had happened, of what he had been about to do hit him like a brick. He forced his fangs back into his gums, diving to the floor and frantically clutching at Erin's wrist. He swore repeatedly under his breath, his fingers scrabbling over his girlfriend's pulse point as he searched, desperately, for any trace of a beat, for any sign of life…_

_He placed his hands on her shoulders, intending to roll her onto her back so he could listen for a heartbeat- before his wrists were grabbed roughly by his father and he was heaved to his feet once again._

_"Move her now and it could be fatal," the Count hissed sharply. "The emergency services will be on their way- there's nothing we can do."_

_Vlad struggled against the Count's iron grip; he had no idea whether Erin was dead or alive, he had just tasted her blood, they were about to be set upon by a hoard of furious slayers and his father wanted him to _run_?_

_"I'm not leaving!" he roared, struggling to make his voice heard over the alarms. "I'm not leaving without knowing she's alright!"_

_"For Christ's sake, Vlad!" Ingrid screamed, only just ducking in time as a UV bomb flew perilously close to her head. Her usual deathly composure had been replaced by a horribly familiar kind of mania; the grief was glinting in her eyes as she aimed a vicious kick at the slayer nearest to her, who doubled over in pain. "She's dead! There's nothing you can do! Just bugger off before we all get killed!"_

_The clerk and judge had long since fled the courtroom, but there were still too many slayers left for the four of them to fight off; they had to be outnumbered at least twelve to one. The pounding footsteps were drawing closer. Vlad could almost hear the orders from the unit leaders, instructing them to shoot on sight, to show no mercy-_

_But suddenly, the choice of whether to stay or go wasn't his anymore. The Count grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and started physically dragging him across the courtroom, towards the door that Vlad, only a few minutes ago, had been dragging Erin towards. Vlad fought tooth and nail, yelling for all he was worth, but his voice was lost in the sudden tidal wave of noise that crashed down upon the room as the main doors burst open and three units of slayers charged in._

_Stakes flew. UV bombs smashed. Garlic gas hissed as it was released from its containers. All hell broke loose as the slayers who had been observing the appeal sprinted for cover, and neither Bertrand nor Ingrid appeared to be averse to abandoning ship either. Speeding across the courtroom, Bertrand caught Vlad in his arms as the young vampire tried to make another break for it, back towards Erin._

_"I can't abandon her! I won't!"_

_But Bertrand ignored him, holding onto him tightly. Vlad craned his neck desperately for one last look at his girlfriend; all he saw was a flash of blonde hair before the stampede of slayers engulfed her. A deadly sheath of garlic-tipped argentilium arrows flew towards him, the points aiming straight for his unbeating heart…_

* * *

Vlad jerked awake with a start, the top of his head slamming into the lid of his coffin. Uttering a stream of profanities that would have caused even Ingrid to gasp, he opened it with a click of his fingers, sighing in relief as a rush of fresh, cool air washed over him. He felt the bump gingerly- it was the size of a golf ball. Brilliant.

Vlad was drenched in sweat, but he wasn't too shaken up; he'd been having the same dream pretty much every night since the shooting. He'd got used to the burning feeling of guilt that flamed, white-hot, in the pit of his stomach when he awoke. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he heaved himself out of his coffin and pulled on his dressing gown, stumbling slightly in the darkness. He padded silently along the corridor, pausing when he heard a strange sort of chanting leaking through Bertrand's bedroom door. Deciding he didn't really want to know, he tip-toed down the stairs, wincing at every creak of the floorboards. A quick glass of soy blood and a couple of those mysterious tablets that had appeared in the blood cabinet the day after Erin's death and he would be right back off to sleep. He was going to need it- Vlad groaned out loud as he realised it was his French Listening in the morning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his French folder, let alone revised.

Vlad scrabbled around in the blood cabinet, his fingers gliding over bottle after bottle of vintage, making a lot more noise than he knew was wise. He couldn't help but shudder as his hand groped a half-empty carton of orange juice; like the shampoo bottle, it proudly displayed a Post-It note bearing Erin's name and a doodle. He hurried on, finally discovering his soy blood hidden away at the back of the cabinet. His father's handiwork, no doubt. He located the packet of pills and popped two out.

"Drowning your sorrows?"

Vlad jumped violently, dropping the soy blood. The glass bottle shattered; thick, gloopy liquid spattered the polished floor, the blood cabinet and, to Vlad's dismay, his bare feet. Hissing softly in irritation, he clicked his fingers and the dining room was illuminated dimly as the stubby remains of the candles re-lit.

He glared at his father. "What are you doing down here, skulking in the dark?"

The Count smirked condescendingly. "I could ask you the same question."

**TBC...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just going to plug 'Solidarity' again. Not even ashamed. I am ****_so_**** in the WW1 zone right now ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yay! We survived the snow! And this story has now received over 1,000 views so thanks to all of you for that. It means so much to me that you guys R&R. I know I'm updating a day early but consider it a thank you present ;) enjoy Chapter 9!_

Chapter 9

Vlad surreptitiously slipped the pills into his dressing gown pocket. He had a feeling that his father wouldn't approve of his almost nightly use of the breather medication.

"Just getting a drink. Didn't think I needed a permit," he snapped, far more aggressively than was necessary. The Count appraised him coolly.

"When are you going to stop this silly charade and start drinking proper blood? It's not good for you, Vladimir. A growing lad like you-"

"I'm seventeen, not seven."

The Count gave a long-suffering sigh. "You don't need to fight me at every turn, Vladdy. I'm only trying to help you."

"Why does everyone think I need to be helped?!" Vlad exclaimed bitterly, throwing himself down into the armchair opposite his father. "Look at me. I'm perfectly fine."

The Count merely rolled his eyes, smoothing a non-existent crease out of his cape. "All this teenage angst really is exhausting me, Vladimir," he said, yawning theatrically. "If you've got nothing better to do than snap at me then I think I'll turn in." He got gracefully to his feet and swept towards the door, the hem of his cape narrowly avoiding trailing through the spilt soy blood.

"Dad!" Vlad said suddenly, the word almost forcing itself out of his mouth as he tried in vain to maintain his confrontational exterior. The Count paused in the doorway; Vlad didn't need to see his face to know that those delicately shaped eyebrows would be well and truly raised. He ploughed on, slightly nervously. "Do you, er- don't you think it's time we- well, we- we moved?"

There was a pregnant pause. The Count gave no outward sign of surprise at his son's question, but his stillness demonstrated to Vlad that he was turning the words over in his mind, examining them for any hidden meaning. Vlad waited patiently. He knew from experience not to rush his father: it only resulted in stubbornness.

"As in leave this breather-hole?" he replied eventually, turning his head slightly to the light.

Vlad nodded. "It's my coronation in a month, and it's not very impressive for the Chosen One to still be hiding in a school, whether you're the owner or not."

The Count turned to face his son fully; Vlad was a little taken aback to see a hard, accusatory look in his eyes. "Is this because of the slayer girl?" he demanded, looking Vlad up and down suspiciously, who, as usual, felt the small stab of pain to his stomach.

"No!" he cried, a little too defensively to be convincing.

The Count gave another pained sigh. "Your preoccupation with that breather is really quite unfathomable," he said disdainfully, gesturing towards the blood cabinet. "She's been dead for three weeks and yet you've _still_ got her things lying about. It's morbid, Vladdy, you have to see that."

"I thought I told you I didn't want her spoken about anymore," Vlad ground out, his hands trembling slightly as he fought to control the rage that always seemed to be lurking close to the surface these days.

"Which proves you're not over her!" the Count announced triumphantly.

Vlad spluttered in outrage. "Over her? _Over her_? Of course I'm over her; it wasn't like I was in love with her or anything!" It hurt even to come out with the lie that Vlad so desperately craved to be true. He didn't want to be hung up over Erin like some lovesick Shakespearean hero but he had watched her murdered in front of his very eyes- it wasn't something that he would recover from in a hurry. And now that she was gone her hold over his heart seemed to have increased tenfold and Vlad hated it. He could swing from intense grief to uncontrollable rage in an instant. It scared him. He'd been so used to controlling his Dark Side that he'd just assumed his emotions would fall into place too. But even in death it appeared that Erin could mess with his head. Rest in peace? That was a laugh. This was probably her vengeance, her revenge on him for neglecting to protect her that night.

"Her room's been sitting there, untouched, for nearly a month now! It's like you're maintaining some sort of _shrine_ for her." The Count gave a dramatic shudder, and Vlad suddenly felt another wave of indignation rise up inside him.

"Fine," he snarled, pushing his father aside as he stormed out of the door. "Fine."

"Vladdy, where are you going?"

The young vampire swung round, already halfway up the stairs. "You don't think I'm over her?" he demanded, his voice rising in pitch and volume. "Fine. I'll clear her room out now. I'll get rid of all that breather rubbish and burn it. Then we'll see who's over her." Even as the words left Vlad's mouth he knew they were wrong, that _he_ was wrong to be doing this- but he couldn't back down now. He needed to prove to his father, prove to all of them that he didn't care. Because he didn't. He didn't, he didn't, he didn't. Caring was for weaklings, for wimpires- for breathers.

Vlad stormed up the stairs, his father hot in pursuit; they met Ingrid on the landing, a look of mild interest displayed on her devastating features.

"Midnight party, is it?" she asked, smirking sardonically. "I don't recall receiving my invite."

"Vlad's just decided to clear out Erin's room," the Count told her gleefully, ignoring his son's growl as he spoke the breather's name.

Ingrid's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" she enquired, her voice laced with scepticism. "I thought for a while we were going to be harbouring a breather museum."

Vlad glowered at her, his hand ghosting over the doorknob. He'd been entering this room four, five, six times a day only weeks ago, and yet now it was taking all his strength to simply open the door. His grip tightened determinedly: this was stupid. He was scared of what, a door? A room? Vlad swallowed hard, wishing he'd had the chance to take his pills first- and twisted the doorknob, pushing the door open forcefully.

It was Erin's scent that hit him first. It was faint now, the room having been left undisturbed for so long, but the familiar aroma of strawberries, fruity shampoo and something distinctly _Erin_ washed over him. It had always soothed him before, but now it set his teeth on edge, almost as though he was expecting his girlfriend to be hiding somewhere in the dingy room. He lingered on the threshold for a moment, squinting in the darkness, before a pointed cough from behind him reminded him what he was supposed to be doing. He was desperate for some privacy, but to ask would make him look sentimental. He'd have to do this most personal, this most intimate of tasks under the scrutiny of his father and sister.

The door of the wardrobe stood slightly ajar. Vlad could see the sleeve of a jacket poking through the gap. The curtains were drawn. Vlad was reminded painfully of a line of a poem he had studied in Year Nine: "_And each slow dusk/ A drawing down of blinds._" He moved further into the room, eyes skimming over a hairbrush here, a pair of shoes there, a pyjama top slung over the back of a chair. It was all so normal. As if she had just popped out to the shops and would be back within the hour. As if nothing had changed. Only the dust gave any sign that the room hadn't been lived in; everything had gathered dust. A thick film clung to wooden surface of the dressing table, the windowsill, the books scattered haphazardly on the floor. And it was so _cold_. Even Vlad could feel the chill of the dank, too long empty room penetrating his dressing gown.

"Well, isn't this nice?" Ingrid said softly, her nose wrinkling as she surveyed Erin's possessions. "It's as if she's still here." She hugged herself, seemingly feeling the cold as much as Vlad. She leant gingerly against the wall. "Go on then, lover boy," she taunted ruthlessly, nodding towards the wardrobe, "Get started."

Vlad scowled, approaching the wardrobe apprehensively. His fingers traced the ornate carvings in the wooden handle. The scent was stronger here, assaulting his senses as he drew closer: of course, it would have clung to Erin's clothes. He pulled the doors open gently, drinking in the sight of her shirts, her jackets, her dresses stuffed unceremoniously into the closet. He stroked the rough material of Erin's old coat: it was looking distinctly shabby now. Vlad had a feeling it had been Ryan's. It had probably been the first coat she had come across as she had fled home that dark October evening, her brother asleep in the boot of her car.

Vlad slammed the wardrobe door shut. This wasn't right. He felt as if he was invading Erin's privacy… but that was stupid, she was _dead_. If he was going to have any hope of moving on he needed to clear all this away, wipe the slate clean, start afresh. He considered, briefly, simply clicking his fingers and setting it all alight. That would erase any traces of her from his unlife alright.

Vlad suddenly felt angry. This was so unfair. It wasn't his fault that Erin had died- how was he supposed to have known that some gun-toting maniac would start pulling a trigger before he'd even got halfway through the door? She'd always been a menace, a burden, an unnecessary millstone hanging round his neck when she'd been alive and now, now she was dragging him down even whilst languishing six feet under. Vlad supposed that this must be his punishment- karma always got you in the end and this was his retribution for being so weak. Well, not anymore. No-one else was going to mess with his head. He'd be damned if he let another girl get under his skin like this. Vlad reached back towards the wardrobe door, intending to rip every article of clothing off their hangers and tear them into tiny shreds- when the sharp ringing of the front doorbell echoed faintly up through the floorboards. Vlad blinked, slightly disorientated. He glanced at his watch.

"That'll be Bertrand," he announced to no-one in particular, moving away from the wardrobe towards the door of Erin's room. "He said he'd be back before 2am."

"Let Ingrid go," the Count said dismissively, hovering awkwardly by the dressing table.

The eldest Dracula sibling snorted. "You won't catch me answering the doors like some lackey," she informed them tartly, perching on the edge of the bed and flicking back her hair. Vlad rolled his eyes in irritation, already halfway out of the room.

"I'll get it."

"Vladdy-"

"I SAID I'LL GET IT!"

He stomped down the stairs, kicking at the skirting in frustration- his foot went right through, leaving a gaping hole in the rotting wood. Vlad was sure he heard the frantic squeaking of mice, but didn't stop to investigate. If the building was infested with flea-ridden vermin then maybe it'd get torn down. Or torched. Burn the filthy rodents alive, Vlad thought savagely. Preferably with his father and sister still inside.

He crossed the darkening entrance hall at a distinctly inhuman speed, squinting in the dimness. Trust Renfield to have let the candles burn low. He fumbled with the lock on the front door, grasping the handle and wrenching the door open in a temper- before freezing when he saw who was stood on the doorstep.

It wasn't Bertrand.

It wasn't even Miss McCauley.

_TBC..._


	10. Chapter 10

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for all of your lovely reviews of Chapter 9! I've had a bit of a down week this week so reading them made me feel a lot better. Here's a longer chapter for you as a thank you :) enjoy!_

Chapter 10

"Hello, darling," Magda drawled, leaning against the doorframe at exactly the angle that best showed off her enviable curves. "It's been _far_ too long."

"Has it?" Vlad sighed wearily. His mother looked her usual stunning self: long black hair, curled to perfection and gleaming in the moonlight; shockingly red lips that highlighted the fullness of her pout; a floor-length dress, of such a deep purple that it was almost black. It wasn't a sight that immediately brought maternal affection to mind, and Vlad's patience was currently too frayed for him to be bothered with pleasantries. "You can't be here," he told her sharply, looking over his shoulder to check that his father hadn't followed him into the hall. "It's not a good time."

Magda flashed him a dazzling smile that showed off every one of her perfect teeth. "Darling, it's _always_ a good time for family." She pushed past her son and sashayed into the entrance hall, her delicate nose wrinkling in distaste as she eyed the porcelain vases of flowers and heavy mahogany furniture. She sighed sadly. "Really, Vladimir, the way you're still skulking in this breather hole beggars belief."

Vlad swallowed a cutting retort. "We're keeping a low-profile," he reminded her through gritted teeth.

"Vladimir, darling, you're the Chosen One! You ought to be lording it over all these breather pustules in a luxury castle in Transylvania."

"I'm afraid the funds don't quite stretch to luxury castles in Transylvania," he ground out. He checked his watch: it was getting on for two in the morning. He'd fall asleep in his French exam if he didn't get his head down soon. "Look, Mum," he yawned, making a great show of rubbing his eyes and stretching, "I'm shattered. Leave me your address and I'll come and visit you at the weekend, yeah?"

Magda smirked at him condescendingly. "As if Patrick and I want a stroppy teenager hanging around our fortress."

Vlad started. "Fortress?" he repeated warily. His mother's smirk widened.

"Well, once we'd got rid of that hybrid-"

"His name is Wolfie and he's your son!"

"-Patrick and I decided it was time to upgrade," Magda finished, acting as though Vlad hadn't spoken. She began to sweep up the wooden staircase, trailing her impeccably manicured hand up the bannister. "I'll announce myself, shall I?"

Vlad took the stairs two at a time, ducking under her arm to stand in front of her, blocking her path. He dug in his heels stubbornly.

"You need to leave," he snapped, "No-one wants to see you. I've got school in the morning-" a derisive snort from his mother- "And I'm actually in the middle of something right now."

"Oh, Vladdy, darling, you really are just too adorable!" Magda cackled, eyes roving pointedly over her son's dressing gown and bare feet. "It's so easy to forget that next month you'll be the Grand High Vampire." She trailed a hand over his hair. "I still see the twelve year-old who used to bicker with Ingrid enough to drive one into the sunlight."

Vlad twitched his head, shaking her off. "That surprises me," he growled, "I don't recall seeing you for longer than about five minutes at a time when we were growing up."

"Oh, you are _so_ like your father," Magda said affectionately, though with a slight bite to her voice. "He always held grudges too. Very breather-like, really; just couldn't accept that I prefer my men to be a bit sprightlier."

"I'll remember that the next time Patrick throws you out." Vlad suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Is that why you're here? Has he got fed up with you again? Because if you think we're going to put you up after everything you've done-"

Magda sighed heavily. She fixed Vlad with a pained look. "Darling, you know I love you as much as vintage blood but I'm afraid you've grown up to be a rather dull young man. I think I'll go and find Ingrid; no doubt she'll be wearing something ghastly that I can criticise."

His mother prodded him firmly in the chest and he lost his balance, clutching at the bannister to keep himself from falling over. Smiling serenely, Magda glided up the stairs; Vlad heard her fling the dining room door open and announce her arrival in an infuriatingly sing-song voice. He scowled, clenching and unclenching his fists as he trailed after her: wasn't this just typical? He hadn't seen his mother in over seven months and yet she seemed to feel well within her rights to just swan in and out of their unlives as it pleased her. And to think the last time she'd been here she'd tricked him into giving her the Regency! The memory of his naivety made him feel hot with embarrassment. But there would be no such problems this time around, Vlad would make sure of it; he didn't care what she wanted. Having to appease his psychotic mother had once been high on his list of priorities but not anymore. She could rot in hell for all Vlad cared: and she most probably would, he thought bitterly.

Reaching the dining room door, he only just ducked in time as a glass vase of dead roses flew towards him; it hit the opposite wall and shattered, a small puddle of water spreading steadily across the moth-eaten carpet. Vlad looked up indignantly- and felt his heart sink as he saw his sister's face. She was in a towering rage.

"You think you can just barge in here and tell me that I shouldn't wear red because it's not my colour?" Ingrid snarled, her eyes blackening alarmingly. "Is your life really that empty?"

"Darling, bitterness is _so_ unbecoming," Magda said breezily, strolling easily around the room as though she were inspecting it. "I know it must be difficult for you not having inherited my good looks, but your father isn't _completely_ abhorrent to look at."

It took all of Vlad's strength to hold Ingrid back as she lunged off the sofa as their mother turned away.

"Leave it," he muttered into her ear, "She's just trying to get a reaction out of you."

Ingrid snarled, retracting her fangs sullenly. "That's where you're wrong," she hissed savagely, "I think she actually believes everything she says."

"Well, then she's an idiot," Vlad reasoned calmly. Ingrid just glared, shrugging him off and flopping back onto the sofa, folding her arms and crossing her legs in what was clearly a come-at-me-if-you-dare position.

"Mum, I really do think you should go," Vlad began loudly, gesturing towards the dining room door. "I don't think Dad will be too happy to see you and-"

"Oh, don't be such a bore, darling, it's frightfully breather-ish."

"I mean it! This is our home-"

"Hovel, more like."

Vlad took a deep, cleansing breath. He counted to ten in his head, before settling himself down next to Ingrid and forcing his face into a neutral expression. "Fine," he exhaled, swallowing hard, "The sooner you tell me what you want the sooner you'll leave."

Magda wasn't listening. "Where's that stuck-up tutor of yours?" she enquired. "Half-fang, wasn't he? Had funny hair."

"He's out," Vlad snapped, "For God's sake, Mum, just-"

"And there was another one, wasn't there?"

"What?"

"Another half-fang. Blonde. Heinous fashion sense. Came crashing in last time I was here wearing a _ghastly_ green coat-"

"Shut up," Vlad said quietly. Magda stared at him, affronted.

"Excuse me?"

"I said shut up. We don't talk about her anymore. I don't allow it."

"And what the mighty Chosen One demands, the mighty Chosen One gets," Ingrid muttered tartly. Vlad shot her a warning look.

Magda looked at Vlad with what she evidently thought were sympathetic eyes. "Oh, darling, did she throw you over for her sire?" she cooed, a smug grin spreading across her face. "Half-fangs can be like that, you know; they never quite lose their breather fickleness. Better off sticking to the pure-bloods- they're much more befitting of your status." She gave a knowing sigh. "She had that look about her, I remember; I could _smell_ the untrustworthiness on her."

Vlad spluttered indignantly. "I don't think the two of you were actually in the same room for more than about a minute!"

"A mother always knows, darling," Magda said loftily, admonishing him with that patronising little smile that made him want to follow Ingrid's example and throw something at her.

"Speaking of Erin," Ingrid interjected- Vlad fixed her with a murderous stare, which she promptly disregarded- "I don't think you made much headway with her room, did you?" Her face was expressionless, but the malice in her tone was unmistakeable. "Why don't you go and finish off? Think of how good you'll feel when it's done. It'll be just another empty room then- free for you to install whichever girl next takes your fancy in."

Vlad closed his eyes momentarily- he knew this was a test. This was Ingrid's way of reminding him that she was watching him for signs of breaking, and that the slightest crack, the slightest show of sentimentality would be pounced upon and mercilessly destroyed. He didn't understand it. One minute she was telling him she was there for him if he wanted to talk, and that crying wasn't anything to be ashamed of, and the next she was taunting him for the most marginal sign of weakness. He supposed the presence of their mother had something to do with it; for all of Ingrid's talk, Vlad knew that she was desperate to gain the approval of their parents. Underneath that icy, impenetrable exterior was a girl who was just oblivious to love. She'd never received it, and so she didn't know how to give it. The one person she had felt compassion for had been ripped from her. And so why should Vlad be allowed to move on quickly and quietly when she had had to grieve alone in Stokely?

Vlad looked at Ingrid. Really looked at her. Her skin was a ghostly, almost translucent white in the dying embers of the fire. He looked past the heavy make-up, the sleek black hair, the stylised clothing and saw the twisted, blackened soul that lay smouldering underneath. Grief had changed her. She had always been moody, she had always had attitude, but Will's death had fed her violent streak so vigorously that it had overpowered the small flame of goodness that had burned inside her.

And Vlad, trying to force down the fear that was rising inside of him like bile, could see himself in Ingrid. Ok, so he hadn't massacred a town of breathers, but he'd been rude, he'd been erratic- he'd been angry. He felt angry all the time. The red-hot rage was always bubbling beneath the surface, easily ignored but never quite under his control. It would only take something stupid, a misinterpreted joke or offhand remark to set him off, and who knew what that could develop into? Was he, too, destined to develop into a distorted reflection of his former self, defined by his hatred, eternally hurting from his grief?

No. Vlad wouldn't let it happen. He _couldn't_ let it happen. He was the ruler of his kind; he had responsibilities to maintain, fellow countrymen to protect. He had to move on. For their sake. And for the sake of his sanity.

Vlad stood up and moved over to the sideboard. He reached for the small picture that sat half-obscured by a pile of leather-bound tomes recounting the history of the High Council. He hadn't seen this picture for a while; he'd thought he'd lost it. It wasn't a great likeness- Vlad got the feeling Bertrand had deliberately tried to highlight their flaws whilst painting it- but it was all he had left of her. An unflattering portrait of the two of them in a cheap, chipped frame, and a room full of possessions that were gathering dust. It was pathetic, really. What was the matter with him? Why was this all so difficult?

As the frustration peaked, Vlad gripped the picture tightly in his hand. He couldn't let himself end up like Ingrid. She had nearly killed herself from the inside. He was going to fight this, he had to remove every trace of Erin from his unlife- just forget about her and move on. Under the watchful eye of his sister, he strode over to the fireplace. The blaze was sparking pitifully now, all but extinguished; a quick click of Vlad's fingers and it was crackling as merrily as it had done on Christmas Day.

Vlad looked down at the picture once more. He traced Erin's blonde bob, her denim shirt, her blue eyes as tiny as pinpricks. He had memories, and they were painful enough; he didn't need any physical reminders. Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, he tore his eyes away from his girlfriend's face and held the picture out over the flames. This was the first step.

"You put that right back where you found it, Vladimir Dracula."

_TBC..._


	11. Chapter 11

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

Chapter 11

Vlad froze. It was as though his hand had seized up around the picture; he couldn't have let go of it if he'd wanted to. He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. He'd imagined the voice often enough- swung round in excitement when he'd thought he'd heard it call his name, only to be met with an empty corridor and the tight, uncomfortable feeling of dashed hope in the pit of his stomach. It must be the picture: it was messing with his senses. Seeing her tiny painted face would have brought all the old memories back to the surface. Well, they wouldn't kid him this time. He was moving on- he had to. He'd promised himself he would. Hearing voices was just another sign that he was losing his grip. He took another deep, steadying breath, and brought his hand closer to the flames.

"I mean it, Vlad," the voice said, slightly louder; it sounded closer to him now. The familiarity of it made him ache. "Put it back."

Every instinct was telling Vlad to drop the picture, to ignore this cruel hallucination and finally set out upon the road to recovery. There was nothing to be gained by torturing himself in this way- he needed to destroy the last remaining links to his late girlfriend before he crumbled to dust from the inside. But the tiny part of him that was still the naïve 12 year old boy couldn't fight the urge to look round. Just to check, just to make sure…

Vlad dropped his arm to his side, letting the picture slip out of his hand to land with a dull thud on the wooden floor. He could feel the hope flare up inside of him, as it always did, but it was barely worth his attention now. She wouldn't be there. It was all in his head. He was insane to even entertain the possibility that she would be standing behind him. He had seen her body, for God's sake; he had tasted the blood. He should just drop the picture on the fire and go and torch her bedroom.

And yet- the urge to look round… it was irresistible...

The voice hadn't spoken again. Vlad couldn't gauge how close to him it was. His ears must be playing tricks on him, but it was almost as if he could hear ragged, shaky breaths from the opposite side of the room. Finally, in a mixture of morbid curiosity and shameful desperation, Vlad swung round.

She was instantly recognisable, and yet the change in her was almost painful to observe. The hair was longer, the face paler, the eyes too big for the face and she was thinner than the last time he had seen her. Her clothes hung awkwardly- they were unfamiliar, Vlad had never seen her in them before- and looked as though they had been designed for a boy. She had a small duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

It was the scar that drew Vlad's eye the most. The parting of her fringe left it on plain view for all to see. It snaked out from beneath her hairline, stretching past her left eyebrow and finishing at her cheekbone. It wasn't wide, but even in the flickering light of the fire Vlad could tell that the wound that had caused it had been deep. It had scabbed over in most places. It would have been the sort of wound that had required stitches, yet Vlad had a feeling that it hadn't received any.

Vlad met her eyes for the first time. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, searching for the answers that lay hidden beneath the surface, for the confirmation that the person stood in front of them was _real_, was solid and immoveable and very much of the physical. Vlad could feel himself falling, feel the ground beneath him crumbling away until all that was left was him and her and black, empty space-

And then reality hit him like a blow to the jaw. He shook his head slightly, trying furiously to rid himself of the red haze that had descended in front of his eyes, and looked the girl in front of him up and down.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" he said, his voice hoarse and harsh.

Erin blinked. Her gaze flickered to the floor, before she swallowed and raised her eyes to Vlad's again.

"It's a long story," she said quietly. Vlad waited impatiently for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he turned to his mother, whose lip was curling as she scrutinised Erin's clothes, and Ingrid, who was staring at Erin as though she had never seen a breather before.

"Go," he said to them. It wasn't a request. For once, his sister obeyed the order and stood up, but Magda dug in her heels.

"Oh, darling, you don't really think I'm going to miss out on watching the half-fang grovel for your forgiveness?" She took a threatening step towards Erin, whose hands twitched as though she were aching to reach for a stake. "How dare you have the audacity to run off with a half-breed and then turn up at my Vladdy's door the minute it falls apart?" she growled.

"Gee, doesn't that sound like someone we know?" Ingrid ground out. Magda turned on her daughter, drawing herself up as her eyes flashed.

"How dare you insinuate such a-"

"SHUT UP!" Vlad roared, and his mother fell silent immediately, though he could practically see the steam emitting from her ears. "Mum, Ingrid, just go, please. I need to speak to Erin alone."

Ingrid nodded, her eyes sweeping over the breather girl once more. "I'll let Dad know what's going on," she said bluntly, marching out of the room.

"No- Ingrid- I-" Vlad began, but the heavy mahogany door had already swung shut. He turned to his mother. "Mum, please," he begged, "I don't know what you want, but you're only ever here to make trouble. We don't need any more of that." When she didn't move, Vlad stepped closer to her. "Just go," he implored, "Please. I'm sorry, but you're already making this worse and I really don't need that."

Magda appraised Vlad for a moment. She smiled slightly, reaching out to straighten his collar. "Half-fangs are trouble, Vladimir," she told him softly, "Remember that. Believe me, I've had enough dealings with the little blood-bags to know." She shot Erin another venomous look, before stepping away from her son. "Goodbye, darling," she whispered, and shot off into the night.

It wasn't often that Vlad felt lost for words, but standing with his back to Erin, staring at the empty space where his mother had been stood, he couldn't think of where to begin with her. Anger, hurt, confusion and a savage, painful kind of joy were clouding his brain. He couldn't think straight. He wanted to shout, to cry, to rage and storm up and down the room. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. He wanted to kiss her until she was fighting for breath. The shock of it all made him feel quite weak about the knees and he collapsed onto the sofa, resting his head on his right palm, staring down at his bare feet. He dimly registered Erin coming to kneel beside him. For the first time in a month, he felt her small, warm hand slip into his larger, colder one. There was a sharp jolt in his chest. It hurt. The sound of her breathing- which had steadied by now- comforted him, and yet at the same time he wanted to clamp his hand over her mouth so he didn't have to listen to it. He wanted to scream at her. Order her to leave, to drive away in that ridiculous tin-pot car of hers and clear all of her rubbish out of her bedroom, never to return as long as they both walked the earth.

But he loved her. _God_, he loved her so much it was taking all of his will-power not to grab her and kiss her and never let her go.

"Vlad," Erin whispered. He didn't respond. She tugged on his hand. "_Vlad_," she muttered, more urgently. He jerked his hand free of hers, still not looking up. He thought he heard her sigh, before she adjusted her position so that she was leaning against the sofa, tracing patterns on his bare foot.

They sat like that for a while. Two in the morning came and went, the off-key chiming of the grandfather clock in the attic corridor echoing down faintly through the ceiling. Vlad was beginning to get pins and needles in his arm. He was desperately tired- he could feel his eyelids beginning to flutter closed as a yawn stretched his mouth. He raised his head slightly; Erin looked up at the movement.

"Tired?" she asked him, smiling a fraction. He ignored her, standing up and stretching his aching limbs. It was late- or should that be early. He just wanted to sleep. He didn't want to have to think about this anymore. He strode away from her, tightening up the cord of his dressing gown and yanking the dining room door open.

"Where are you going?"

Vlad didn't look round. "To bed," he said tonelessly. This was all too much. He couldn't cope with it. If he was alone then maybe he could kid himself that he was imagining things, that it wasn't real.

"Vlad- please- just let me explain-"

And there it was. That sharp, broken voice, filled with pain and unshed tears. If she thought that was going to work on him again then she had another thing coming.

"It's odd, really," Vlad began shakily, the red mist beginning to descend once more as he turned to face his girlfriend, "You've always hidden everything from me- you've never wanted to confide in me, even when it would have saved your life- and yet now you're actually offering to explain everything? I don't get it. Have you seen the light whilst you've been away? Or is this just a ploy to get me back on side?"

Tears had begun to drip silently down Erin's cheeks. The light of the fire cast ghoulish shadows over her gaunt face; the tear tracks glittered like frost. "Vlad- please-" she choked.

Vlad slammed the dining room door so hard that his father's portrait slipped off the wall and fell with a crash onto the throne below. He cursed under his breath and threw himself down onto the sofa, giving Erin an exaggerated look of rapt attention.

"Go on, then," he snarled, "Explain. Explain where you've been for the past month, why you didn't get in contact, why the _hell_ you let me think you were dead!" Of all the sick, twisted things that Vlad had observed in the vampiric world this was by far up there with the worst of them. She had pretended to be dead. _Dead_. And she hadn't even attempted to get in contact! Had it been an act of desperation? Had she wanted to break up with him, and been so scared to that she had resorted to _that_?

Erin hiccupped, coming to kneel once again at Vlad's side. She took one of his hands in both of hers, gripping it tightly as though she needed something solid to support her. "Vlad, before I tell you any of that you need to know that it wasn't planned. Believe me; I wouldn't have been shot by choice." She looked so desperate, with hot, salty droplets spilling out of her eyes, that Vlad knew she must be telling the truth. He couldn't imagine the agony she must have suffered- the injury and subsequent recovery would have surely been excruciating- but remembering that night merely caused the vicious, spiteful anger to surge up inside of him again. He wrenched his hand out of Erin's grasp and strode over to the fireplace, glaring at the embers glowing in the grate. He couldn't lie to himself: he had imagined this reunion over and over again in his coffin at nights (and it had sometimes developed into something that had made him exceedingly paranoid about using telepathy) – but never in these fantasies had he felt so hurt, so betrayed… but then this was Erin they were talking about. What was new?

"Why?" he asked her quietly. That was all he wanted to know at this stage. The details could come later. "Why did you hide from me?"

Erin swallowed. "If the slayers know I'm alive they'll come after me. Golding's been let off with a warning but if word gets out that I'm not dead they'll be baying for my blood. They haven't forgiven me, Vlad- and they won't. They want me to hang."

_TBC..._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm hoping that was the sort of thing you guys wanted to see... ;)_


	12. Chapter 12

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for all of your reviews of the last chapter! I'm glad you guys were pleased about Erin's survival. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much :)_

Chapter 12

"I just- I just don't get how you survived. I saw the gun, I saw the wound."

"As long as the bullet misses your brain and chest and you arrive at a hospital with your heart still beating there's a 95% chance of survival." Erin smiled sadly at Vlad's astonished look. "I've had a lot of time to kill these past four weeks."

"But how did you _get_ to a hospital? The last time I saw you, you were in no fit state to hop on the next bus to A&E."

Erin suddenly looked apprehensive. She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa beside Vlad, her eyes flickering between him and the door so quickly that he was surprised she wasn't making herself dizzy. He smirked inwardly as he observed the internal conflict- he knew exactly what she was considering. When she proved him right, and made to bolt, he grabbed her arm and pulled her firmly back down beside him.

"Nuh-uh. No way. You wanted to explain, remember? So explain. Before I lose my patience." The threat made Erin's eyes flash in outrage. She tried to twist her arm out of Vlad's grip; the slight raising of his eyebrows stilled her instantly. Her cheeks were beginning to stain a blotchy red. Vlad felt the satisfying surge of power that he had experienced last week with Bertrand- it was such fun to watch Erin squirm.

"It's difficult to explain," she began slowly. "I don't remember a lot of it." She faltered; when Vlad glared, she glared right back. "I just have to go on what Jonno and Mina have told me."

Vlad did a double-take. "Jonno and Mina?" he demanded furiously. "Where the hell do they come into it?"

"It's down to them that I'm still here. It was them who took me to a slayer hospital. They let me stay with them whilst I got my head sorted. Without them I _would_ have died." She attempted a strained smile. "I guess they're not all bad, right?"

It was too much for Vlad. The hateful rage that he fought so hard to suppress spiked; he grabbed Erin, dragging her to the nearest wall and slamming her back against it. Her contracted cry of pain as her head hit the wooden panelling fed the fury that was tearing at his insides. He felt quite delirious. How dare she, how _dare_ she… for her to conceal it from him, her boyfriend, was one thing, but to let Jonno and Mina in on the secret… two filthy, treacherous little slayers… it was unforgiveable.

"I swear to God, Erin, I swear to _God_," Vlad hissed, his face millimetres from hers as he spluttered incoherently, spitting like an angry cat. He pressed his body flat against her so she was trapped utterly between him and the wall. "They knew and I didn't… _they _knew and_ I _didn't… and you just waltz back in here, four weeks on, pretending that nothing's happened-"

"You know that's not what I'm doing-"

"Have you any idea, any at all, what I've been going through?"

"Yes, Vlad, I have, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- just let go of me and I'll-"

"And you'll what?" Vlad snarled, his grip on her forearms tightening as she made a futile attempt to push him away. The fear in her eyes was just too delicious.

Erin took a long, steadying breath. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she tried to calm herself. When they opened, they were still fearful, but she had stopped struggling against him. She was tense, but still.

"I was going to say that I'll tell you the full story but if you're going to shout in my face then I don't think I will, thanks." Vlad could sense her heart thumping frantically in her chest, the only sign that she was still afraid. "You might want to try asking nicely."

Vlad growled, and pushed her even further into the wall. "You'll tell me everything, Erin. You'll tell me the full story whether I ask you nicely or not, by God, else I'll-"

"Yes?" she interrupted sharply, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her fringe. "You'll…?" Her heart rate was increasing alarmingly; the sound of blood pumping frantically around her small body reverberated around Vlad's eardrums.

They stared each other out for a moment. Vlad longed to utter the ultimate threat, to whisper it into her ear in a way that was almost seductive and yet oh-so-menacing. The words were dancing on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out, and Vlad almost opened his mouth- when his blackening eyes caught sight of the scar on the side of Erin's face. He relinquished his hold of her right arm and reached up to stroke the mark. She tensed automatically under his touch; he was caressing it now, running his cool fingers up and down the old wound. He pushed her fringe to the side and observed where it disappeared into her hairline, its beginning- or end, whichever way you wanted to look at it- lost unless one parted the blonde hair on her scalp.

"How?" he whispered, mesmerised by the neatness of the gash.

"When I fell," she answered softly. She flinched slightly as his fingers moved towards her eye. "You should have seen me a few weeks ago: my entire forehead was a hideous, purple-black colour." Vlad was still holding her left arm. She twitched it gently. "Vlad…" she murmured. He sighed and let go, stepping away from her.

"Sorry," he muttered, squinting at his shoes. "I've been feeling a bit funny recently."

"S'ok," Erin said quietly, rubbing her forearms. She moved towards him hesitantly, moving a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "For what it's worth, I don't think you'll have any problems controlling the High Council if you do that to them."

Vlad snorted. "I don't fancy pressing any of them up against any walls, thank you very much." He gestured at her to sit down again. "Just out of interest, how many people actually knew that you were still alive?" He tried to keep his voice casual.

"Just Jonno and Mina. Everyone else thinks that Thomas Golding killed me. Mum, Dad, Ryan… everyone."

"But- but-" Vlad stammered, gesturing soundlessly, "You had a funeral! I know: I was invited to it!"

Erin closed her eyes. "The van Helsings are senior Guild members. You don't think they can tamper with a few files and work the system to their advantage?"

"But at the hospital-"

"One of the doctors owed them a favour."

"Your mum and dad-"

"Work in the legal side of the Guild now. They had no reason to question what Jonno and Mina told them." There was a note of bitterness in Erin's voice that Vlad only ever heard when she spoke about her parents. "Pretty grim that they couldn't distinguish the body of their own daughter from a dummy."

Vlad reached out to take her hand. Her fingers were like ice. "I should think it would have been a pretty convincing one," he reasoned gently. "As you said- they would have had no reason to question it."

"I guess," Erin whispered softly. She twisted her body to gaze pensively into the fire. "And so now they think they've lost both of their children." She tensed suddenly, turning to Vlad with an anxious look on her face. "I ought to get in touch with Ryan, really." She grimaced. "How did he take it?"

"As well as could have been expected. I'd give it a few days, if I were you, though- you need to work out what you're going to do."

Erin gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, everyone apart from me, Ingrid, Mum, Dad and the van Helsings think you're dead. We're going to need to do some damage control."

Erin groaned, burying her face in a cushion. "Why is it all so complicated?" she wailed.

"Well, that's what happens when you pretend to be dead." Vlad pulled the cushion out of her grasp so he could look her in the face. "I've been a complete mess, Erin; I've been going out of my mind. Couldn't you have just phoned or written to me or something? Just to let me know that you were alright? I wouldn't have told anyone."

"Jonno and Mina wouldn't let me contact you!" she cried defensively. "I wanted to, Vlad, I was absolutely desperate to see you, but they kept me shut up in their house for weeks. They wouldn't let me talk to anyone in case I blew their cover. They'd have been done for harbouring a fugitive or some other such rubbish."

Vlad narrowed his eyes. Something didn't quite add up there. "And what, now they've suddenly decided that a month is long enough and they've magically let you go?" To his surprise, Erin grinned mischievously.

"Oh, Vlad," she giggled, "You know that people can never keep me anywhere against my will for very long. I proved that with Bertrand, didn't I?"

"Yes, well, some would label that as slippery."

"I prefer resourceful."

Vlad laughed in spite of himself. "Seriously, though, did you just break out of their house?" The image of Erin creeping around an old mansion in a balaclava suddenly sprung to mind- it was too comical for words.

"Pretty much. So expect them to arrive here all guns blazing any time soon."

"_What_?" The last thing they needed was two angry slayers swooping down on them. Vlad wasn't in a hurry to be caught up in another Guild drama, Truce or no Truce.

"Well, they know this is the only place I'd go," Erin reasoned. "They need to talk to you anyway."

"What about?" Vlad couldn't think of anything he had done that would warrant a visit from the van Helsings. They hadn't visited Garside since the Sethius incident- crikey, had that really only been six months ago?

"I overheard them talking in the lounge the other night," Erin began slowly, a slight crease appearing in her forehead as she screwed up her face in an effort to remember the conversation. "It was all rather secretive. They definitely mentioned Thomas Golding, I'm certain of that… I didn't really hear any details. But they're coming, I know that much. You might want to warn your dad."

Vlad smiled humourlessly. His father had barely been able to restrain himself the last time slayers had graced his dining room; he'd be polishing his fangs in preparation if he knew the van Helsings were visiting. Vlad would have to keep him away from Mina. Ever since the Count had seen Miss McCauley flirting with the IT consultant who had come in to check the school's computers he'd been on the lookout for a pretty neck. Ingrid still wasn't speaking to him for smashing up her laptop.

Erin yawned widely. Vlad put his free arm around her and she rested her head against his shoulder, sighing contentedly.

"I missed you," she mumbled sleepily. "Every day." Vlad said nothing. He just pulled her tighter to him, scared to close his eyes in case he opened them to find he'd lost her for a second time. These past four weeks had been hell. He'd been teetering on the brink of insanity and it had been as terrifying as it had been infuriating. He would protect her this time. He wouldn't be able to cope if anyone took her from him again.

_TBC..._


	13. Chapter 13

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

Chapter 13

Vlad passed the days that followed in an almost dream-like state. His study leave meant that he and Erin could spend all day together, recounting what they had been up to in the past month and revelling in their time with each other. To Vlad, it was almost as if she had never been away; she slotted so easily back into life at Garside that it was horribly tempting to push away the memories of the pain, the anger, the guilt that had plagued him for the past four weeks. They had to keep Erin out of sight, of course- it wouldn't do for Miss McCauley or any of the pupils to spot her- but it was a small price to pay. Neither of them talked about what Erin would do about school; she'd missed her exams, and it was going to require extreme finesse and delicacy, not to mention a mass-hypnosis, for her to resume her studies at Garside.

Apart from what had been said on the night of her return she didn't seem keen to talk about what had happened at the Guild. Vlad wasn't going to push her; it wasn't worth it. If what she'd said about the Jonno and Mina was accurate then the two slayers would be knocking on their door any day now- he could get answers from them.

Appeasing Ingrid, the Count and Bertrand with this attitude had been less straight-forward. They seemed to find Erin's version of events impossible to comprehend.

"But how can you _trust_ her, Vladdy?" the Count had cried, whilst Erin had been washing her hair one afternoon. "She's been away for a month! And isn't the fact that she didn't get in contact with you fishy enough?"

It had taken all of Vlad's powers of persuasion to convince the clan not to confront his girlfriend. He'd promised to give them a fuller explanation as soon as he managed to coax one out of someone, but it hadn't stopped Erin from receiving an alarming number of black looks and fanged hisses at the dinner table.

It took almost a week before the unwelcome ring of the doorbell echoed through the school's empty corridors. Thankfully, it was a Saturday- a depressingly sunny one. All of the curtains were drawn, and Erin was lounging by an open window in the dining room with her Biology textbook. She looked up at the sound of the visitors.

"No prizes for guessing who that'll be," she sighed, closing her book with a soft thump and pushing herself to her feet. "I'm surprised it's taken them six days; they must have been doing security checks and backing up files and things first."

Vlad gave the room a quick once-over, before gesturing at Erin to remain quiet while he pressed his right ear to the dining room door. He could hear the dull murmur of three voices: one of them Renfield's, obviously, with the other two belonging to a man and a woman. And who else would be visiting them uninvited?

"Definitely the van Helsings," he muttered grimly, moving away from the door as he heard three sets of footsteps on the stairs. "I suppose we were always going to have to face them." He ran a sweaty hand through his hair. "Best get this over with."

The pair moved to stand side by side in front of the sofa. Vlad slipped his hand into Erin's, interlinking their fingers, but the afternoon was hot and sticky and he soon let go, wiping the clamminess off on his jeans. Erin's breathing was steady, but her stance was defensive- she was preparing for confrontation. Vlad, surprisingly, was feeling rather calm; he could handle Jonno and Mina. He would thank them profusely for saving his girlfriend's life, and then, if things turned sour, politely but firmly remind them where the door was. They had had no right to keep Erin from him. She could live wherever and with whomever she liked.

A sharp rap on the dining room door and Renfield entered, flanked by the two slayers.

"Mrs and Master van Helsing, Master Vlad," he said greasily, before scuttling about filling glasses from the jug of iced water on the sideboard.

Vlad met the van Helsings' accusatory stares defiantly. He refused to let himself be intimidated. He remembered with a jolt that they had news about Thomas Golding; and yet with Erin at his side, blinking and breathing and very much alive, he found he didn't care as much about the man's fate as he had done before. He deserved to rot in hell, of course, and Vlad would make sure that he never rose past the rank of PA, but he no longer wanted him imprisoned. Now Erin was back, his lust for revenge had been put into a rather sharper perspective. And so much the better- his anger had been destructive, and with his coronation in less than a month he didn't need a murderous rage corroding away his self-control. Not when he'd soon have the entire Vampire High Council to contend with.

"Mina, Jonno," he said respectfully. "What can I do for you? Everything going alright with the Truce, I hope?" Playing ignorant would be the best policy at this stage- Vlad needed to gauge just how angry the van Helsings were before he made his move.

"We can't stay long. We'll be missed." Mina snatched the glass that Renfield was offering her out of his hand. Vlad inclined his head politely, gesturing to the sofa.

"Of course- if you'd like to sit down?"

The two slayers hesitated, before stalking over to the sofa and perching there tensely, beads of condensation running down the glasses they clutched so tightly in their hands that should they have been vampires they would have shattered. An uneasy silence followed as Vlad and Erin sank simultaneously into armchairs. Vlad noticed that Erin was looking everywhere but at the two slayers opposite them.

"So," Jonno said eventually, twisting to face Erin, "You got here alright, I take it?"

She nodded mutely, still not looking at him. Her hands were twisting violently in her lap as she squinted across the room at a cobweb hanging from the curtain rail.

"I'm afraid chit-chat is not on our agenda," Mina snapped, looking at her watch in a rather exaggerated fashion. "I wouldn't have come if Jonno hadn't insisted." She threw her son a furious glance; he had the grace to look sheepish. "I thought you were made of better stuff than this, Erin; we saved your life, jeopardising our own careers to do so- if anyone found out we could go to prison and you could hang-"

"Mum," Jonno muttered. He looked apologetic as he addressed the couple. "We're just a little- _concerned _about what might happen if you get spotted. Especially by anyone from the Guild. We've done some digging over the past few days and so far everything seems to be in order. You walked, I presume?" he enquired suddenly, fixing Erin with a sharp look. She appraised him for a moment, before nodding stiffly. "Good," Jonno continued, apparently satisfied. "If you'd be seen on public transport we'd have had a hellish trail of fingerprints and CCTV footage to follow up…"

He trailed off lamely; another tense silence. All that could be heard was the frantic tweeting of the birds outside the open window and the steady drip, drip, drip of condensation onto the wooden surface of the coffee table. Vlad cleared his throat awkwardly; he knew he might not get another chance to get his questions answered.

"I just…" he began, before faltering, wondering how best to phrase what he was about to say. The last thing he wanted to do was come across as accusatory. "I just- was wondering- why… why you saved her. Erin, I mean," he added, unnecessarily.

Mina glared at him. She folded her arms and leant back on the sofa. "I thought you'd have been pleased," she said icily, crossing her legs and jiggling her foot impatiently.

"I am!" Vlad assured her hurriedly, "I am, of course I am, don't get me wrong- it just… seems a little odd, that's all I'm saying. I mean, you two were the expert witnesses at the trial and yet you saved Erin's life and hid her from the slayers. I just- don't get it."

The van Helsings looked at each other. If Vlad hadn't known better, he'd have thought that they were communicating telepathically. It was Jonno who eventually spoke, slowly and hesitantly as if he were choosing his words carefully.

"Do you not remember that fax I sent you?" Vlad screwed up his face in an effort to remember, before nodding vigorously; it had been the night that Erin's death sentence had been passed. "It said that if there was anything we could do to help you and Erin, you knew where we were. Or something like that, anyway."

"But I never contacted you-"

"I know. You didn't have to. We weren't just going to leave a girl dying in the middle of a courtroom; traitor, spy or otherwise." Jonno shrugged nonchalantly, as if it had been nothing. "Human life is human life. And, if I remember, it was Mum's idea."

Mina snorted slightly at that. She still refused to look in Erin's direction. "And look where that's got us now," she snarled. "She didn't even have the decency to let us know she was leaving-"

"Only because you kept me locked up in your house!" Erin piped up suddenly, flushing an ominous shade of scarlet. "I was going crazy all on my own-"

"You'd just been shot, you needed rest; we were speeding up the healing process-"

"Trying to save your own skins, more like."

"You ungrateful little-"

"Stop it!" Jonno growled. He looked between Erin and Mina in exasperation. "We can't change what's happened, but if we're careful the secret shouldn't get out. Erin, if by some nightmarish bout of luck you _are_ spotted have you got your story sorted?"

"Not yet," the blonde girl muttered sulkily. "It's on my to-do list."

"Just make sure it is," Jonno said sternly. "Don't forget we agreed that the price of our care was your silence." He fixed her with an uncharacteristically fierce gaze, before sitting up straighter as his voice took on a slightly more formal tone. "The actual reason we're here is to talk to about Thomas Golding. You're aware who-"

"Yes, I think we are, thank you," Vlad said testily. Jonno rolled his eyes.

"What with-" he gestured towards Erin- "everything that's been going on, I don't know whether you've had time to have a chat with Bertrand, but Bryant's been riding us pretty hard down at the Guild for a charge of murder to be passed. It's got to the stage now where David Temple's had to get involved." David Temple was the President of the British Guild- the one who had written to Erin to inform her of her charge of espionage. "You've probably guessed that the entire incident was hushed up- Lord knows why Golding's even _got_ a revolver, let alone one on the base- but Temple was wondering if sacking him wouldn't just be sufficient? He's sure the last thing any of us wants is to create a scandal." Jonno's face was hopeful as he looked keenly at Erin and Vlad in turn, both of whom wore matching expressions of outrage.

"With a nice fat pay-off, I've no doubt," Erin ground out, while Vlad spluttered in indignation. She stared at the two slayers in disbelief. "I know neither of you are my biggest fans but whether it was an accident or not you saw what Golding did to me. I'm not asking for anything drastic like a prison sentence, or even for a charge to be brought against him. I don't know why he did it- I don't suppose I ever will, I'm not intending to ever see him again- but I can't see how _you_, either of you, can stand to work with him. Or how he can still stand working at the Guild after what he's done."

Jonno sighed. He looked at his mother, whose expression was stony. He turned back to the couple seated in front of him. "Are you sure?" he pleaded desperately. "He's not going to go quietly. It could get messy. You've still got time to reconsider."

"No," Vlad said firmly, walking over to stand beside Erin's chair. "Get rid of him- _without_ a pay-off. You should think yourselves lucky that we're going to drop the charges." He and Erin had had many an argument over that topic in the past few days. "Otherwise I can't promise that I'll be able to restrain myself if next time I visit the Guild's headquarters I see him standing there with that stupid smirk on his face."

_TBC..._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope you guys think my explanation of Erin's return is relatively believable. God forbid that I end up delving into the realms of the implausible!_


	14. Chapter 14

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another slight injection of raciness for you all, just because I feel there's been a distinct lack of Vlerin action in this fic so far. Enjoy..._

Chapter 14

Vlad had never really appreciated The Four Seasons. There was something about Frankie Valli's piercing falsetto that set his fangs on edge. It was a shame that Erin's record collection didn't encompass anything past about 1978; Vlad quite enjoyed a bit of Michael Jackson every now and then. Still, _Sherry_ wasn't too bad, and he could always put the Detroit Spinners on when she wasn't looking. The sudden appearance of a brand-new (if slightly battered) gramophone had so far gone unquestioned, though Vlad had made a mental note to ask Bertrand just what had been contained in the cumbersome, rather oddly-shaped package that he had been caught lugging up the stairs yesterday.

Erin seemed to have relaxed slightly since Jonno and Mina's visit. It had been several days since they had sparred with the two slayers, and since then she hadn't been able to keep her hands off Vlad. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been down to the training room. Still, he wasn't complaining- they hadn't kissed properly in months. He didn't know if hovering between life and death gave someone a new outlook on life, but it had certainly given Erin more confidence. There were still boundaries, of course: Erin had several specific 'no-go' areas where she wasn't prepared to touch Vlad and, more importantly, where Vlad wasn't allowed to touch _her_. He wasn't quite sure where the boundaries stemmed from- he assumed she must have had her sense of propriety bred into her- but he was finding them increasingly frustrating. He had made it his mission to break each one of them down.

And it appeared that some of his techniques, at least, were working. For as Vlad was sat on his sofa, Erin on his lap, kissing her so fiercely that she was in danger of falling backwards, he could feel one of her arms move from around his neck to the hem of his t-shirt. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, before the warmth of her fingers slid across his chest to stroke and caress the toned muscles there. Vlad groaned, and he felt Erin smile against his lips. He gripped her waist, pulling her even tighter against him, and she twisted in his lap so that she was straddling him. She'd had to break away from his lips momentarily to accomplish that move gracefully, and the coy, innocent little smile she flashed at him both excited and frustrated him in equal measure. For now more than ever, Vlad was finding it hard to maintain control of his body. If the past seven months had proved anything to him, it was that Erin wasn't in a hurry to explore the more physical side of their relationship. It was alright for her, she didn't have to worry about what would happen to certain parts of her body when things became heated…

"I'm just going to get a drink," she whispered, her breath hot on Vlad's right ear. He felt an odd juddering sensation where his heart should have been; Erin grinned, pushing herself off his lap and sashaying out of the bedroom. She paused just outside of the door, straightening her clothing and smoothing down her hair before turning to wink at Vlad. As soon as the door swung shut Vlad flopped back onto the sofa, unable to do anything except focus very hard on a cobweb on the ceiling, his hands fisted in the sofa cushions, concentrating on taking deep, soothing, entirely unnecessary breaths… _just think about something boring, something stupid… vampiric law… the annual High Council meeting… the procedure regarding the ritual staking of a traitor… don't think about Erin… __**don't think about Erin**__…_

"I got these as a joke from my friend on my sixteenth birthday," came a high, slightly breathless voice to his left. "I thought now might be a good time to wear them in."

Vlad twisted around to see what on earth Erin was talking about- and his jaw dropped. She was standing in the doorway- _in the doorway_- in nothing but her checked shirt (which was unbuttoned) and her underwear. And it wasn't a plain, modest, cotton set; it was a black, lacy, dare he even say _raunchy_ ensemble.

Vlad was exceedingly glad that he was sat down. He could feel his knees beginning to turn to jelly; he swallowed, his eyes watering as they strained to remain fixed upon Erin's face rather than straying slightly south of that region… finally, as he heard a noise on the stairs, he pulled himself together.

"Christ, shut the door, will you?" he hissed, flustered, gesturing frantically for Erin to enter the room. She giggled, closing the door with a soft snap and leaning back against it. Vlad couldn't stop his eyes from raking over her pale flesh- the damn shirt wasn't helping him either. He hadn't expected Erin, of all people, to pull a stunt like this…

"So," she whispered seductively, reaching up to fiddle with a loose strand of her hair, "What do you think?"

"I- I-" Vlad stammered, clutching the edge of the sofa so tightly that his knuckles threatened to burst through his skin. He had never seen Erin in so little clothing before. Well, that wasn't strictly true- there was that time when he had walked in on her getting changed- but even then he'd only caught a glimpse of her. The fact that she was now standing half-naked in front of him, of her own free will, more importantly, implied to Vlad that she was prepared to take things slightly further than they had ever been taken before; kissing was all very well but Vlad had long been eager for more… he _was_ a teenage boy, after all…

Vlad stood up. He approached Erin slowly, taking in every inch of her small body. He could see the heat beginning to creep across her face and chest as he scrutinised her, committing every freckle, every curve to memory in case this was a sight he wouldn't see again anytime soon. Hesitantly, he reached up to push her shirt from her shoulders; she gasped slightly as the cool air hit her, and reached down to tug Vlad's own shirt over his head. There was a soft thump as both shirts hit the floor. Vlad stared at Erin for a moment, an almost lustful look in his eyes as his hands moved to rest on her waist; he moved closer as she snaked her arms around his neck, and pushed her back against the door as she captured his lips with hers. The slight twitch of her body and a sharp inhale caused him to pull back, puzzled.

"What is it?" he asked her, his voice quiet as he tried to conceal his disappointment. She'd gone and got him all worked up in that damn underwear and now she was having second thoughts.

Erin grimaced slightly. "It's nothing. I'm just a bit sore, that's all." She sighed impatiently at his quizzical look, turning around to show him the marks across her shoulders where he had slammed her into the wall the other night. There were purple hand-prints on her forearms from where his bruising grip had clutched her.

Vlad stepped back, appalled. "Oh, God, Erin, I'm so sorry," he muttered guiltily, grabbing at her hands as he looked down at the bruises he had left on her arms. "I was just angry- I forget how much strength I've got sometimes- I didn't mean-"

"Don't worry about it," she whispered, stroking her thumb across the point where Vlad's pulse should have throbbed; the effect it had on the young vampire made her smirk. "Just don't throw me about so much today, okay?" Vlad just blinked at her, shivering again as she moved her soft fingers across the tender flesh of his neck. "You've only got yourself to blame," she murmured, pressing her warm body against his naked torso, "Otherwise I'd have let you be as rough as you liked…"

Vlad managed not to choke, but it was a close call.

"So- so you're not angry?" he managed to force out. His throat felt hot and tight as he swallowed shakily. His non-existent breath caught in his lungs as she leant back slightly to look him in the face.

"Would you like me to be?"

That was it. No more talking. Vlad didn't think he'd be able to stand it much longer. It took every modicum of self-control he possessed to remember to be mindful of her bruises as he kissed her fiercely, his tongue meeting hers as he wrapped his arms around her waist, savouring the feeling of her warm flesh on his bare arms. He knew that the cacophony of appreciative noises they were both making were probably louder than was wise, but as her hands roved, as _his_ hands, finally, after seven months, were allowed to explore, he couldn't summon up the energy to care. This was bliss, this was complete and utter sinful bliss- who needed blood, vintage or otherwise, when one could kiss and touch and-

But Vlad got no further as Erin's mobile bleeped pointedly from the bookcase. He growled in annoyance, gripping Erin's hips possessively as she tried to move away.

"It's just a text message." His voice was harsh with lust; Erin raised her eyebrows.

"Vlad, you can either let me check my messages, or I will have to force you to let go of me and then I shall immediately put my clothes back on."

Whilst that prospect was too awful for Vlad to even contemplate, he spotted a slight flaw in her plan.

"You forget how much stronger I am than you," he murmured, stroking his thumbs across her hip-bones. "Much too strong for a little breather girl..." He smirked, leaning back in again- and his right foot exploded with pain as Erin stamped down hard on his toes.

"I did warn you," she sang, pulling away from him and prancing over to where her phone was sat on the other side of the room. Despite the ache in his foot, Vlad watched her go with a half-smile on his face; it wasn't often that Erin was daring and impulsive, but it didn't half turn him on when she was…

And so it was with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he observed the worried look that was now creasing his girlfriend's slightly pink face.

"What is it?"

"It's Ryan. He says he needs to talk to me."

"_Ryan_? But that's ridiculous, he thinks you're dead. I- he- why's he texting you?"

Erin sighed, pushing her sweaty fringe back from her forehead. "Someone must have told him. Jonno or Mina, maybe?"

"No way. If there's one thing that I've learnt from all that espionage business it's that slayers don't regard half-fangs as worthy holders of information."

"Jonno and Mina are different," Erin reasoned, though she didn't sound convinced.

"Not that different," Vlad said grimly, gently prising the phone out of her hand to read the message himself:

_Hi Erin. Hope you're ok. We need to catch up- it's been too long! I'm crashing in Anne's Wood near Earby if you can get here ASAP. See you soon. Ryan x_

Vlad paused. Nothing too fishy there, but it was still rather odd that Ryan magically seemed to know that Erin was still alive when the van Helsings had been practically having kittens about making sure it remained a closely-guarded secret.

"Why don't you just give him a ring?" he suggested, holding the phone back out to her. Erin pocketed it, shaking her head.

"I want to see him, Vlad. He's my brother and it's been months now since we actually had a proper chat." She placed her hands on her boyfriend's shoulders. "He's more likely to tell me how he knows I'm still here if I talk to him in person."

Vlad sighed; he knew she was right, and he had no right to stop her. He checked his watch- it had just gone six. It wouldn't start getting dark until ten. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Just be back before nightfall, please, ok? I worry about you."

Erin smiled coquettishly. "And then maybe we can pick up where we left off," she breathed huskily- before the effect was ruined by her blowing him a kiss and practically skipping out of the room.

_TBC..._


	15. Chapter 15

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter didn't seem to want to go up! I had to delete it then re-upload it multiple times to try and get the site to register it so fingers crossed it'll work this time. This is the longest chapter yet, and full credit must go to HyaHya for inspiring it- re-reading their review of Chapter 14 of 'Repercussions' is what jolted me out of my writers' block. So I do hope you enjoy!_

Chapter 15

It took Vlad a few moments to make himself presentable before he emerged from his bedroom. The last thing he wanted was a flurry of gossip that he and Erin had been up to something untoward. Admittedly, they _had_ been, but it could have been worse; even in her underwear she had been wearing far more clothes than Vlad would have liked. He still couldn't believe how lucky he was that she even let him kiss her, especially after she'd seen (and experienced) the violence he was capable of. And, Vlad thought grimly, that hadn't even been the worst of it… he could sense the darkness inside of him growing hungrier by the day. It was longing for an escape- it wouldn't be content to stay suppressed forever- and Vlad only had a fortnight before that hideous, mouldering crown would be placed on his head and the inevitable power surge would reduce him to nothing but his most primal, his most deadly vampiric instincts. He wouldn't be able stop it. He could learn to control it, with training, but he was horribly aware of the stiffness in his muscles and the way his chest tightened after running up the stairs. He was out of practice, out of shape. He needed to be at his fittest for his coronation. Because after that, there would be a relentless stream of assassination attempts, Vlad was sure of it. It was with a cold jolt in his stomach that he realised that he would always have to be looking over his shoulder, always on his guard for the presence of spies and traitors and power-hungry maniacs.

It wasn't fair. He hadn't asked for this- even now, given the opportunity Vlad would gladly trade places with a breather. Let someone else take control. Let someone else shoulder the burden of power. The pressure bore down upon him like a dead weight; it had eased slightly with Erin's return, but he could still feel it. Squatting on his shoulders, pushing him down; and as it got heavier, as it increased, so did Vlad's rage. It was wrong, but he couldn't help it- he was a vampire. A _vampire_. He'd been desperate for the entirety of his adolescence to resist conforming to what the connotations of that word dictated- evil wasn't something he relished in. The power could satisfy him, certainly- there was a certain irony about the control he could exercise over the members of his clan who had put him down all these years- but it never lasted long. In the moment, in the heat of the argument it was exhilarating, but the guilt would gnaw at him when he sat alone in his room, still and unmoving in the gathering darkness of those long summer evenings.

And for all of Erin's talk, for all of her half-naked stunts, Vlad could tell that her wounds from the shooting were still healing. He had caught her trying to conceal her scar with foundation one morning, and whenever he quizzed her about the aftermath of the accident she would just clam up. He wanted to help her, but she wasn't letting him in. She never let him in. Not with Ryan, not with the death sentence- and not with this. Could this relationship really work long-term if she refused to trust him?

No. That wasn't fair. Vlad knew Erin trusted him more than anyone; she just hadn't gotten out of the habit of good old-fashioned British repression. It was another clue to the stiffness of her background- that, along with her fear of intimacy, all hinted to Vlad that there was something odd about the way she had been brought up. Someone seemed to have taught her that intimacy was wrong, that _feelings_ were wrong. That pleasure was a sin, and that emotion should be locked up tight in the back of one's mind in the hope that it would simply melt away.

Vlad suddenly realised that his feet had trodden the once-familiar path to the training room. He hesitated, his hand ghosting over the doorknob as he wondered whether or not entering would incur his tutor's wrath. He glanced at his watch: it was barely twenty-past six. He had nearly two hours to kill until dinner. He considered, briefly, simply zooming back upstairs and occupying himself with an entirely pointless activity- playing Tetris on Ingrid's new laptop sprung to mind- but it only took the slight twinge of his calf as he mounted the stairs to bring him back down to the threshold of the room. He'd been lazy in Erin's absence; he'd seen no reason to keep himself fit and toned and unfortunately it was beginning to show. He gritted his teeth, and knocked dutifully on the heavy oak door.

"Come in," called an irritated voice. Vlad pushed the door open and came face to face with Bertrand, who was toting a rather vicious looking spear.

"You'll have someone's eye out with that if you're not careful," Vlad remarked good-naturedly. Bertrand gave him the sort of look that scorches.

"Surprised you remembered this room still exists," he said icily, pointedly turning his back on Vlad and continuing to wield his weapon, "It's been long enough."

Vlad rolled his eyes. Bertrand was always so touchy about training. It seemed to have escaped his notice that his protégé had had slightly more pressing matters to contend with recently- either that, or he needed to reassess his priorities.

"Sorry," Vlad said, as breezily as he could manage, "I've been busy. Still," he added hastily, as his tutor's eyes flashed in irritation, "I'm here now, and I'd really like to work on my fencing, if that's ok. I never really got the hang of those counter-parries."

Bertrand surveyed him coldly. "What makes you think I've got the time?" he sneered, tossing the spear from palm to palm, "I'm afraid some of us have more important things to do than involve ourselves in illicit relations with resurrected slayer girls."

"Oh, we're back to that, are we?" Vlad muttered darkly. He thought Bertrand had managed to get over that little transgression. The tutor glowered, swishing the spear with painstaking accuracy and at such a speed that it became a blur.

"If you would like to practice your counter-parries, Vlad, by all means grab yourself a sword; however, you'll have to teach yourself. I'm rather occupied at the moment."

Vlad resisted the urge to grind his teeth at the man's stubbornness. So he'd kind of skipped training every night for over a month. So what? He was here now, wasn't he? And as he had said before, Bertrand's livelihood, his place at Garside Grange was solely down to Vlad's generosity. He had no right to refuse his requests or question his judgement.

"I'd have thought," Vlad began coolly, deliberately stepping into Bertrand's personal space, "That after our little conversation in Bryant's office you'd have realised that it's me who calls the shots around here. Not you, not Dad- me."

To his surprise, Bertrand let out a dark, almost demonic laugh. The sound of it made the hair on the back of Vlad's neck stand on end. "_You_ call the shots?" he repeated, swinging the spear so sharply that Vlad had to duck to avoid being decapitated. "If you believe that then you're a fool."

"What do you mean by that?" Vlad demanded heatedly. His tutor fixed him with a condescending, almost pitying look, his eyes glittering eerily in the dim light of the training room as the ghost of a smirk crossed his face. It made Vlad want to hit him.

"It's Erin who's in control around here, not you."

Vlad spluttered incredulously. "_Erin_?" The idea was too ludicrous for words.

"This household revolves around her. Even when she was away you were still hopelessly hung up on her. You would just cry and mope all the time-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Vlad interjected hotly. Bertrand ignored him.

"-And now she's back, you're like a pair of Siamese twins again! If you're not holed up in _her_ room then you're holed up in yours."

Vlad stared at Bertrand wordlessly. The man sounded… almost _bitter_. It was unnerving. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," he managed to say, eyeing his tutor warily, "But she _has_ just come back from the dead. I think I'm entitled-"

Bertrand flung the spear across the room with a roar of frustration. Vlad jumped back in alarm, colliding with a heavy wooden bookcase and sending several leather-bound volumes crashing to the floor. The resulting din shook dust from the ceiling.

"What is the matter with you, Vlad?" Bertrand roared, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "Your coronation is in just over a fortnight-"

"It's got nothing to do with me! The organisation is down to the High Council!"

"Exactly! You've got friends on that Council, Vlad, but you've also got enemies. Ramanga's forgiven you for that damn puppet incident but another mistake and he won't hesitate to put you in your place. I just wish you'd take this _seriously_," he concluded sourly, kicking out at the leg of the desk in a very un-Bertrand-like display of temper.

Vlad breathed out through his nose. It was rare to see his tutor so worked up; he wasn't quite sure how to deal with him. "So this isn't about Erin, then, it's about me," he ventured cautiously. He shrank back as Bertrand snarled in impatience.

"If it's about you, then it's about Erin; if it's about Erin, then it's about you. You're like one body- no-one can distinguish between the pair of you anymore!"

Vlad swallowed- had they really become that domesticated? He'd kept her close recently, but surely not to the extent that Bertrand was implying…

"You're being ridiculous," he replied eventually, moving defiantly away from the bookcase and squaring up to his tutor. "You were all for helping me to move on a few weeks ago and now you're acting exactly as you were when Erin first arrived! I haven't got time for it. As you said, it's my coronation in a fortnight- we need to focus on that." Vlad turned away. He didn't trust himself not to say something he'd regret.

"Well, if someone stakes you in the back as soon as that bloody skeleton gets placed on your head then don't say I didn't-" Bertrand's tirade was cut off by the shrill ringing of Vlad's mobile phone. His expression turned positively murderous as his enhanced vision read the caller ID. "Christ, can't you two even go half an hour-" He resorted to seething under his breath as Vlad slid the phone up and pressed it to his ear.

"Hi," he said distractedly, "Everything ok?"

"Yep." Erin's voice was soft and quiet; Vlad assumed the signal must be weak.

"Is Ryan ok?" There was a slight intake of breath from the other end of the line.

"Yep, he's fine." This time, her voice sounded higher than usual, and oddly strangled.

"So…?" She didn't seem to be in any great hurry to talk to him, and now really wasn't a great time to chat. "Look, Erin, can we talk later?" he suggested absent-mindedly.

"No!" Erin's voice rang out loudly, suddenly panicked and alarmed. Vlad's suspicions were definitely beginning to be aroused as her shaky breaths resonated in his ear.

"Erin, what's going on?" He was growing nervous, and that always led to impatience.

"Nothing! Nothing's going on, I just…" she faltered; her breathing was still strangely irregular. "I, erm… I just need your help, that's all."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Erm…" Erin's voice shook; another sharp intake of breath from her end of the line.

"Erin? You still there?"

"Yep, yep, I'm still here. I just- I just need you to come here. Quickly."

"Why, what's happened? Are you ok?"

"Yep, I'm fine." She hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Ryan just needs some advice, that's all. Vampire advice," she added.

"Well, if you put him on-"

"No! No, I- I think it's something that needs to be discussed in person."

"Well, can't you just bring him back to Garside with you and we can-"

"You've got ten minutes, Dracula."

The line went dead. Vlad stared mutely at the phone as though it would hold the answers to the multitude of questions that had suddenly exploded in his brain. The new voice, cold and expressionless and yet somehow familiar, had caused the pit of his stomach to flood with icy dread. He couldn't quite place it- he knew it, of that he was certain- but the stilted conversation, Erin's frantic tone of voice, her uneven breathing made him feel as though an iron fist was clenching around his unbeating heart. There was something not quite right. In fact, all his instincts were telling him that there was something seriously wrong.

The flight to Anne's Wood took mere moments. Vlad landed at the mouth, hissing slightly as the sun, which was fortunately by now beginning to sink towards the horizon, caught his exposed flesh. He hurried under the cover of the canopy of trees, whose leafy boughs stretched far enough across each other to provide him with adequate protection from the merciless UV rays. The evening was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and it was only a light film of sweat that clung to Vlad as he pounded the track that led into the heart of wood.

The further in he ventured, the darker it became. Soon only mere chinks of light lit his way, and Vlad found himself squinting despite his superior eyesight. He jumped at every flutter of wings, every cracking twig, every chirrup of a bird; he fingered the stake he had brought with him in his pocket. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but if Erin had been harmed in some way he would personally dust the vampire responsible- he was still the Chosen One, whether he was eighteen or not…

His emergence into a clearing was unexpected. He seemed to have covered a great distance in a relatively short space of time; he supposed he had vampiric speed to thank for that. The crackling of a small fire illuminated the dell, throwing spiked, macabre shadows onto the trunks of trees, which formed a dense barrier against the rest of the forest. Vlad instantly felt claustrophobic; it was almost as though the trees were closing in, trapping anyone who unwittingly stumbled across what must have been a sort of pagan ritual ground, a location for the practice of sacrificial witchcraft in the days when the wood had been barely more than a collection of saplings. A trap for unsuspecting victims, vulnerable and alone, who had lost their way.

Erin was kneeling on the forest floor. The paleness of her face stood out starkly in the flickering orange light of the fire. There was a dark bruise blooming on her right eye; she had her hands behind her back; she was perfectly still apart from the ragged rising and falling of her chest.

And standing behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder and the other pressing a revolver firmly against the back of her head, was Thomas Golding.

_TBC..._


	16. Chapter 16

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for the reviews. There are only four chapters left of this fic after this one :( so I hope you enjoy where I'm taking it..._

Chapter 16

Vlad had always been one to keep a cool head in a crisis. There was the initial moment of panic, when black guesses, worst-case thoughts would cloud his brain; but it was only ever a few seconds before the fog would clear and his tactical head was screwed back on. There was almost always the eruption of poisonous, molten fury, but it had to be quashed; anger could cost one valuable moments of thinking time if allowed to fester in the pit of one's stomach. There would be time to hiss and snarl later. Vlad could quite easily have snapped Thomas' neck simply for the look of cold glee displayed upon his face, but the man could pull the trigger at any point- right now, he held the decision between life and death in his left index finger. It was a dangerous game he was playing and Vlad had no choice but to play along.

"What an intriguing set-up," he began coolly, trying to appear unperturbed by the calculating gleam in the slayer's eyes. "It's an undoubtedly more theatrical meeting than I'd been expecting."

Thomas' lips quirked in amusement. "I never do things by halves," he acknowledged, inclining his head towards Vlad graciously, as though in thanks. It didn't escape Vlad's notice that the man's left knuckle was slightly swollen; his gaze flickered back to the livid purple of Erin's right eye, and he put two and two together. The bastard.

Swallowing down the furious words that were searing his throat, he attempted to sound casual, almost disinterested. "The invitation was certainly an original touch."

This time Thomas actually laughed, albeit humourlessly. "I do have rather a flair for the dramatic," he agreed breezily, as though he were discussing his taste in suits rather than his penchant for gunfire. "I did think you'd appreciate the mystery of it all."

"I think we've all had rather enough mystery of late."

Thomas merely looked at him, pupils dark and glinting, and the pair lapsed into a stiff silence. Vlad was unwilling to provoke him; the man had already proved that he was quite prepared to fire a gun when he deemed it necessary, and this time his aim would be true. Vlad had so far avoided meeting Erin's eye; he didn't think he'd be able to bear the fear he saw there. This was worse than when she'd been shot in the courtroom. At least then it had been unexpected, and she'd immediately fallen unconscious. It was unfathomable how she was managing to hold herself together.

"And was there any reason for picking Anne's Wood?" he asked, desperate to keep the slayer talking until something, anything, a plan of any kind sprung to mind. The longer he kept him distracted, the longer he had to conjure up a strategy.

"I have a certain fondness for the natural world," Thomas announced airily. Vlad snorted- he found that hard to believe.

"I've never seen you as the next David Attenborough, myself."

"No. No, I s'pose not. I never was any good at Biology." His gaze lingered on Vlad's white, drawn face. "Besides, slaying's far more fulfilling. When it's been a bad week at the office you can get a real kick out of seeing the life drain from someone's eyes."

Vlad swallowed hard, repulsed. He couldn't tell whether Thomas was saying these things for effect or whether he truly meant them; it was difficult to discern expressions in the fitful, uneven light of the fire. Tendrils of grey smoke, furling and unfurling in the stillness of the June evening, wafted in front of the man's face and Vlad was finding it difficult to keep him in focus. The sharpness of the vapours was making his eyes sting and water; he was beginning to feel slightly woozy.

"So..." he drew out slowly, blinking furiously to try and stop the world from spinning around him, "Was there a reason you called me here? Or did you just fancy a catch up? Because I think a trip to Costa would have been far more civilised. But then you always did like to make a scene. Nothing like a revolver to add drama to the proceedings." He was rambling now, trying to keep a lid on his temper and maintain his consciousness at the same time; the effort it was requiring was exhausting him.

But Thomas didn't appear to be in a hurry. His free hand trailed up from Erin's shoulder to rest on the top of her blonde head- gently, almost tenderly, he began to stroke the soft hair beneath his fingers. Erin was visibly quivering, her entire body trembling as his caresses became rougher. Her red-rimmed eyes were illuminated harshly in the firelight. She jerked her body slightly, her arms twisting ferociously behind her back; she was breathing hard through her nose, her main source of oxygen having been partially obstructed by the neck-scarf that gagged her.

"Feisty little thing, isn't she?" Thomas breathed amusedly, the note of lust in his voice making Vlad feel physically sick. "She was surprisingly unresponsive to rational conversation. I tried to explain the situation to her but she just wasn't having any of it. It did pain me to mar such a pretty face but she's like you vampires: incapable of seeing reason. Violence seemed to be the only thing that would register with her."

"Don't touch her," Vlad snarled. Thomas simply chortled.

"And she kicked up _such_ a fuss, screaming and struggling like you wouldn't believe."

"Well, people don't take kindly to being lured into forests under false pretences," Vlad ground out through gritted teeth. Thomas' hand had travelled slightly lower- he was running his fingers almost thoughtfully over the bloodless apples of Erin's cheeks.

"Oh, I didn't mind. It made eventually subduing her far more satisfying." Erin gave another tug at the ropes binding her wrists; Thomas jabbed the gun against her head.

"Behave," he murmured, as though he were chastising an errant child. His fingers skimmed even further down her body, trailing languidly across the little that was exposed of her décolletage. It made _Vlad_ squirm, never mind Erin, to see how dangerously close he was getting to her chest…

"This is between you and me, Thomas," he said harshly, tearing his gaze away from his girlfriend's wide, scared eyes. "Erin's got nothing to do with it. If you've got a problem with the Truce then-"

"Oh, what do I care about the Truce? If I want to kill a vampire then a piece of paper isn't going to stop me. No, what I'm here for is a matter far more… _personal_."

"Indeed?" Vlad enquired, eyebrows shooting up. "I didn't realise our relationship was at the stage where 'personal' became an acceptable topic of discussion." His fingers curled around the stake in his pocket. If Thomas had been a vampire Vlad would have dusted him without a second thought; as it was, his only weapon was useless.

"It's not Erin that I've got the problem with, really, though she is a slippery little brat. She's caused me no end of trouble, but my real vexation is with _you_, Dracula."

"Excellent," Vlad said loudly, clapping his hands in a most business-like manner, "We're finally making some headway. So if you could just untie Erin for me and let her toddle off home that'd be great- and then maybe I won't have to drain you dry."

If the threat unnerved Thomas it didn't show. That hateful, infuriating smirk had emerged once more, widening at the strangled gasp that Erin emitted at having his hand slide back up to grip her firmly by the slender column of her neck.

"Little Miss Noble's not going anywhere," the slayer said quietly, squeezing Erin's throat and causing her to choke. "Certainly not home; where she _does_ go depends on you."

"You might find me more co-operative if you don't asphyxiate her."

Thomas paused, as though he were weighing up the options available to him, before he removed his crushing fingers from Erin's throat and tangled them firmly in her hair. Her head was pulled back viciously, the gun still pressed against the back of her skull. A slight of twitch of his finger and it would all be over.

"I've a proposition for you, Dracula," he began, tugging warningly on Erin's hair as she struggled slightly against him. "It's not very complicated, neither is it particularly original, but I didn't have the energy to come up with a clever, elaborate scheme. Sometimes the tried and tested methods can be the most effective."

"Just get to the point," Vlad hissed, alarmed at the angle at which the slayer was holding his girlfriend's head; if he pulled it back any further then he'd snap her neck.

"I'm prepared to show your breather brat some mercy if you fulfil my conditions."

"_Which are_?" Vlad snarled, his fangs gliding down unstoppably as his terror peaked. Thomas was deliberately dragging this out to work him up; it was as though he were daring him to unleash his powers. And it wouldn't take much more for the provocation to work- Vlad's self-control was nothing like Bertrand's. It took very little to compromise it, especially when the panic was clawing deliriously at his insides…

"You're not going to like them," Thomas said in a sing-song voice, removing the gun from the back of Erin's head and positioning it so that the barrel was pressed up against the bottom of her chin. The muffled whimper that that move elicited caused a stabbing pain, as sharp as frost, in Vlad's chest. "I suppose the beginnings of all this weren't really your fault, Dracula; it was those damn van Helsings who had to mess everything up. If they'd left the little brat to die then you'd probably never have seen me again. That lawyer of yours would have got his murder charge, and I'd have gone to prison knowing that at the very least I'd done my duty and that the spy was dead."

"You're only a PA," Vlad interjected shakily. "Why did it matter to you?"

"_Was_ only a PA," Thomas corrected, and for the first time Vlad could see the anger behind his eyes. "And anyway, you've got to start somewhere- we can't all get to the top just because our daddies put us there."

"Being the Chosen One has nothing to do with my father!"

"I suppose it's rather unfair to target you; you didn't ask them to help her. Quite the contrary- it looked very much as though you were going to finish the job for me."

Even over the crackling of the fire Vlad could hear Erin's acute intake of breath. He swallowed, focusing very hard on an overhanging branch; the memory of her blood still haunted him. It had become increasingly difficult to satiate his cravings with soy substitute since those few drops had entered his system.

"But then you went and had me fired, the pair of you," the slayer continued, and Vlad's attention immediately snapped back to him, "Yet even then I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps go abroad, where the rules and regulations aren't quite as gospel- but then I was told that I was to receive no pay-off. I was to be sacked without references, without provisions made for me, and not even a month's wages to tide me over. So I'm sure you can understand why I might be feeling slightly less forgiving than usual. But being the generous soul that I am I've decided to give you a choice: you can refuse to do as I say, and I'll put a bullet through your girlfriend's brain- or you can obey my orders, and she'll leave here alive." A sadistic smile ghosted across his mouth. "I can't promise unharmed, though, I'm afraid- she has to learn that sneaking and spying doesn't go unpunished."

Vlad could almost feel the tension in the clearing piercing his skin; it was as though it was burning him. Thomas' hand was steady- he was as calm as Vlad was panicked.

"And what exactly do you want me to do?" he asked quietly. He could tell that this was the crux, that the trump card was about to played.

Thomas smirked. Vlad had never known that it was possible to regard a mere facial expression with so much venom.

"Stake yourself."

_TBC..._


	17. Chapter 17

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for the reviews! Here's another extra-long chapter as a thank you :) this was a bit of a killer to write- I must have re-drafted it about seven times- so I hope you enjoy it._

Chapter 17

Vlad felt as though a cold, dead weight had sunk from the left side of his chest to settle somewhere around his navel. Thomas was joking. He _had_ to be joking. He couldn't, seriously, be telling Vlad to do what Vlad thought he was telling him to do. He must have misheard. The stupid fumes from that stupid fire must be addling his brains. It was ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing Vlad had ever heard. It was taking every ounce of will-power that he possessed to resist simply speeding over to Erin and making off with her, but the situation was becoming increasingly precarious and right now it was Thomas in the driver's seat; one wrong move and he could end it all. There was no way of knowing whether he would really go through with it, whether he really would pull the trigger if pushed- but as Vlad looked into the man's wide, slightly dilated pupils, the hand clutching the gun painfully steady as he watched Erin desperately trying to hold herself together, he had a horrible feeling that he wasn't bluffing. Thomas had nothing to lose now- no job, no money, no friends- so what was to stop him from killing her, just because he could?

"Look, Thomas, this has gone far enough," Vlad said quietly, unable to stop himself from reaching into his pocket to remind himself of just how sharp the stake was. "You've made your point- so just name your price and we can all go our separate ways pretending this never happened."

Thomas smiled indulgently. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand you. I fear what was intended to be the most impressive of threats has rather failed to hit its mark."

"You say you would have left us alone if you'd been given a pay-off- so how much do you want? My father's a count, I'm sure we can manage to arrange something."

Thomas looked to be on the verge of laughing. He let go of Erin's hair and she dropped forwards; the gun was placed back in its original position behind her head. "I don't want your money," he said easily, "Not anymore. A couple of days ago I'd have jumped at it, but I don't take kindly to being humiliated, Dracula, and besides- getting rid of you is going to mean that any Guild in the world is going to want me, references or no references. The Americans, the Russians, the Middle East-"

"And how do I know that as soon as I stake myself you won't just kill Erin anyway?"

"You don't. Which is all the more reason why you should do as I say. There'll be no use appealing to my morals, Dracula; I lost those years ago. In fact, the only thing that's stopping me from pulling this trigger right now is the knowledge that I can get rid of you instead- the ultimate prize, so to speak."

Through the gaps in the branches Vlad could see the dusk beginning to settle, luring the wildlife back to their nests and lulling the birds into a sleepy silence. A purple-red glow was just visible on the horizon; soon it would be completely dark. And no-one knew where they were. Neither of them had told anyone where they were going. So there was no chance of back-up, of a miraculous rescue: they were on their own.

"I'm the leader of my kind," Vlad began quietly, his skin almost translucent in the flickering glow of the fire, "Without me there'll be nothing to stop the slayers from wiping the vampires out- upon my death that Truce becomes null and void. So I can't stake myself. And I can't let you kill Erin either, because then I'm going to have to hunt down every single slayer alive and destroy them in the most brutal way possible. I was prepared to forgive you after what happened in the courtroom- I thought it was an accident, that it was instinctive, that you hadn't been aiming for her. I don't know. But what you've done tonight… I can't forgive that. You have no idea how desperate I've been to unleash my darkness and how many times, when I didn't know Erin was still alive, that I imagined tearing your head off and ripping you limb from limb. So just- just let Erin go. Let her go. Else I will kill you. And I won't regret it."

There was little sound in the woods now. The odd rustling of leaves and hooting of owls, perhaps, but quiet enough for Vlad to hear the heartbeats of the two breathers. One slow, steady and infuriatingly regular; the other so frantic it was deafening, the heart hammering so hard against the ribcage that it must have been painful.

Thomas crouched down in front of Erin. He grabbed her chin roughly in his free hand, forcing her to look up at him. They were so close that they were almost nose to nose. "Your boyfriend's quite an impassioned speaker," he whispered approvingly, as though Vlad couldn't hear him, "It's a real shame that the High Council didn't get to hear that. But he's stalling, I can tell. He doesn't want to die. But I'm a very busy man; I haven't got the time to stand around chatting all night. So I'll ask him for the final time, and I shan't be asking again: am I going to have your blood on my hands, or his dust? He'd best make his mind up quickly before I kill you just for the hell of it."

Vlad knew there wasn't a choice. Not really. He couldn't sacrifice Erin- how could he live with himself if he did? He'd thought he'd lost her once, and that had been a living hell; he'd sailed perilously close to losing his mind and it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat. He loved her. Without a shadow of a doubt, he loved her- so much so that it hurt him like a physical blow to see the pain and the doubt and the self-loathing that she fought to suppress. He didn't know if all teenage girls felt like that, or if it was just Erin. She hadn't realised that he'd noticed.

And she'd used him, she'd lied to him, but he'd done the same to her. They weren't conventional- they'd defied the expectations of both of their cultures to be together- but they could cope with that, and with the back-stabbing sisters, the blood-thirsty fathers, the calculating tutors just as long as they found their way back to each other at the end of each day. Vlad didn't know if he'd ever have that with anyone else.

"Just- just let me talk to her," he said to Thomas quietly, hating the note of pleading that had crept into his voice. "I just want to talk to her. Just one more time. Please."

"You can talk to her now. I'm not stopping you."

"You know what I mean."

Thomas turned his head, regarding him coolly for a moment; Vlad supposed he was undergoing some form of internal conflict. Finally, he sighed, as though the couple were causing him a great inconvenience, and reached out to pull down the scarf that blocked Erin's mouth. The gun continued to rest against the side of her skull.

"And her hands."

The slayer laughed mirthlessly, shooting him a withering look. "You can't possibly think I'd fall for that one, Dracula-"

"Please." The crack in Vlad's voice was unmistakeable. Thomas turned his head slowly back to Erin; her eyes darted frantically about the clearing, looking anywhere but him, the heat rising in her face as he continued to stare at her. It was as though he were waiting for something. She swallowed, licking her chapped lips shakily and moving her head ever so slightly to the left in a futile attempt to escape his bruising grip- for a moment it appeared to have worked, as Thomas instantly let go, but only to bring the back of his hand down stingingly on her right cheek. The strangled cry of pain tore at Vlad's eardrums like the point of a knife.

"Try anything," he whispered to her softly, "Anything at all, you little brat, and I'll-"

"I know. You'll kill me." Her voice was low, hoarse, resigned. The tear-tracks on her face were dry thanks to the heat of the dying fire. She didn't stir as he unknotted the rope securing her wrists; she remained utterly frozen, staring fixedly at the entrance to the clearing as he straightened up behind her. She closed her eyes as he ran his thumb over the fading red scar, her souvenir from their last meeting. Vlad knelt in front of her, reaching out to touch the inflammation on her cheek; she flinched.

"Erin," he murmured, "Look at me." She ignored him. She remained, unshakeably, staring at the gap in the trees. "Erin, please."

Her eyes flickered to meet his; their gaze locked for a fraction of a second. "I'm sorry," she said expressionlessly. Her hands twitched slightly at her sides.

"Don't be stupid. This isn't your fault." He reached out to stroke her face again; she jolted her head away from him.

"Can we just get this over with, please?" Her voice sounded constricted, carefully controlled. "Waiting makes me feel sick."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to feel like this anymore. It's not worth it."

"Feel like what?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath, clenching her fists as though praying for the strength to continue. "I'm done with this. All of this… stupid… vampire… stuff."

Vlad felt as though he had been doused in icy water. "I don't understand."

"I didn't think you would. Don't worry. It doesn't matter." She broke the eye contact. "Can you go now, please? I don't want you to see me with a hole in my head."

"Don't talk like that."

"I can talk however I want. I'm going to die in a minute. I might as well make the most of talking while I still can. I wonder if people can still talk in heaven?"

"Erin, stop it-"

"I bet I go to hell. At least it's warm there. That'll make a nice change from Garside."

"Erin, shut up. Shut up now."

"I wish I'd died the first time. Then we wouldn't be here now. You'd be at home, doing all that vampire stuff you do, and I'd be dead already. Then none of this would be happening." Her voice was flat, monotonous; she looked dead behind the eyes.

"Erin, you can't-"

"No, Vlad, _you_ can't," she snapped suddenly. She had switched from lethargic to lucid in an instant. "If you die then that's it for the vampires. You said it yourself."

"They'll find another leader-"

"One as committed to peace as you?" Her eyes were glistening with wetness. "Just face it, Vlad, you're more-"

"Don't."

"Vlad-"

"Don't say it! No-one's more important to me than you, do you understand?"

"There are thousands of vampires who are looking to you to lead them. He'll kill me either way, whether you stake yourself or not. This way only one of us has to go."

"You can't possibly think that I'm going to stand aside and let him do this? Christ, Erin, what do you take me for? After everything that's happened-"

Erin cut across him. "If you let him shoot me then one person dies. If you stake yourself then hundreds of vampires could be slain; there'll be all-out war with the slayers, there's no doubt about it. Besides- everyone already thinks I'm dead."

Vlad cupped her cheek- this time, she didn't pull anyway. He stared deep into her eyes, which were sparkling with unshed tears. He couldn't believe this was happening. This was the sort of thing one heard about on the news, or saw in films; it wasn't real life. It didn't happen to people you knew. It didn't happen to you.

"I can't," he told her simply. "I can't let him. You don't deserve to go like this, Erin."

Thomas smirked coldly, knowingly- and cocked the gun. The tiny click echoed like a shot around the clearing, slicing through the tension like a sharpened blade. Erin's breathing hitched violently; her eyes fluttered shut, as though she were waiting for the bullet to lodge itself in her brain. Her heart-rate was becoming dangerously high.

"There's a stake in your pocket, Dracula, I can see it," the slayer said softly, nodding at Vlad's jacket. "I suggest you make use of it before I really do lose my patience."

Vlad felt a spasm of terror in his stomach. Impulsively, he placed his hands on either side of Erin's face and kissed her roughly; her own hands moved instinctively to his shoulders, fisting the cotton of his t-shirt. The kiss was messy, inelegant, hurried; there was much clashing of teeth and scraping of tongues as Vlad tried to tell her, wordlessly, how much she meant to him. She'd transformed his life from dull, empty and monotonous to something vibrant, something exciting- she'd shown him that the ambitious future he envisioned was not only possible, but well within his reach.

Which was why he couldn't let Golding kill her. She had so much to give, so much inside of her that was fighting to get out, fighting so hard to be heard that even _she_ didn't know about yet. She was special, and Vlad loved her. Perhaps too much.

The kiss was forcibly broken by Thomas, who yanked Erin viciously to her feet and started to drag her backwards. Vlad moved away, reaching into his pocket and drawing out the stake. It was painfully sharp; he'd made sure of that when he'd selected it. Erin's gaze fell on the weapon, then flickered back up to Vlad; the horror in her eyes made him feel as though it had already been driven into him.

"Vlad, no! Don't- please, you- I'm not worth it! Vlad, you c-" Her cries were instantly stifled as Thomas jerked the scarf back up into her mouth; he grabbed her round the waist, pinning her arms to her sides as she struggled against him, the tears now streaming down her face as she screamed indiscernibly. She writhed ferociously in his tight restraint, despite the gun being pressed against the left side of her head.

"Do it!" Thomas snarled, fighting tooth and nail to keep a hold of the struggling girl, "Do it now else I'll shoot!"

Fear surged through Vlad like static as he clutched the stake in his fist. His vision blurred as he fought to focus on Erin's blue eyes- he wanted them to be the last thing he ever saw, for Erin to be his final ever thought… He positioned the stake over his heart, hands trembling uncontrollably as he wondered whether it would be quick, whether it would hurt… His palms were slippery with sweat, the terror of death so intense that he felt paralysed… Painstakingly, trying to block out the sound of Erin's screams, Vlad drew back the stake-

And promptly dropped it in shock as he watched his girlfriend suddenly twist in Thomas' vice-like grip; draw back her right leg; and knee him hard in the groin.

_TBC..._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please check out my recently uploaded one-shot entitled 'Waiting for Dawn' if you get a minute. Thank you!_


	18. Chapter 18

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello! I hope everyone is well. Apologies for my absence of late: it was my birthday over the weekend and I've got a couple of heinous deadlines to meet this week. Thank you for all of your lovely reviews- they have been very welcome as I currently feel like curling up into a ball and imploding from stress! Rest assured, however, I shall catch up with reading and reviewing everyone's wondrous new chapters/fics later this week. But for now, enjoy Chapter 18 :)_

Chapter 18

It is scientifically proven that, in extreme circumstances, it is possible to die of shock. Shock is the condition when the body is unable to supply enough oxygen to the tissues, and therefore vital organs do not receive the supply of blood they need to continue functioning. They begin to fail and, if untreated, the condition can be fatal.

If Vlad had been a breather he was certain that he would have fallen down dead.

Thomas immediately relinquished his hold of Erin and staggered backwards, doubled over, his face contorted in pain. His grip on the revolver slackened upon reflex and it slid to the floor, landing with a dull thud on the carpet of dry leaves. Erin tore the gag from her mouth; it fluttered to rest at the edge of the dying fire, where the spluttering flames licked tentatively at the corner. It smouldered gently, the strength of the blaze not enough to consume it. Vlad simply stood there, mouth agape, legs like lead, as he watched Thomas dive towards the gun, face screwed up in effort. Erin got there first: her fist closed around the cold metal of the barrel, and for a horrifying moment Vlad thought she was going to overbalance, but she managed to straighten up, still clutching the barrel tightly in her right hand. Thomas lunged at her, but she simply drew back her arm and struck out strongly; the dense, solid metal connected with a sickening clunk with the side of the slayer's head and he collapsed to the floor. The scent of fresh blood being exposed to the warm night air overwhelmed Vlad's already heightened senses and for a moment it was all he could do to focus on retracting his fangs. By the time he had regained his control Erin was standing over Thomas, gun pointing at his chest. Her breathing was ragged, harsh, her face steadily staining with colour. Her entire body had begun to shake as the fear trickled away and her blood returned to its usual pattern of circulation. The hand gripping the gun was trembling so violently that Vlad marvelled at how she was managing to cling onto it.

For a moment, no-one spoke. Vlad didn't know if his tongue would ever work again. The silence was heavy, like the weight of thunder before a storm; it tautened as Thomas lifted his hand to the right side of his face, wincing as he did so, to feel the damage Erin had caused. Warm, sticky liquid streamed down his face, trickling into his ear, and Erin's hand suddenly convulsed so forcibly that she had to clutch the revolver in both hands to stop herself from dropping it. Vlad swallowed, his mouth dry. His tongue seemed to have swelled to twice its normal side as wave after wave of relief crashed over him, making him feel almost giddy: _they were going to be alright. They'd beaten Thomas at his own game._

Thomas appeared to be having similar thoughts. "Well-played," he said to Erin casually, as though she'd beaten him to a point in a tennis match rather than managed to hold him at gun-point with his own revolver. "I didn't think you had it in you. Not very lady-like, I have to say, but I suppose desperate times and all that." He appeared completely unperturbed by the sudden turning of tables. If anything, he seemed rather amused. He stretched out languidly, folding his arms behind his head. "Go on, then," he exhaled, closing his eyes lazily, "Do your worst."

Erin blinked. She allowed one hand to relinquish its hold of the gun; the other was still shaking badly as she took a deep, uneven breath. "Don't push me," she said eventually, in a low, quavering voice. Thomas laughed.

"Or what? Pull the trigger by all means, my dear- it makes no odds to me."

Erin opened and closed her mouth, her jaw trembling slightly. A hard, grim line appeared in her forehead as she swallowed heavily. Her face was as flushed as it had previously been bloodless.

"So- so you're saying you _want_ to die? You _want_ me to kill you?" Her voice was harsh, breathy, practically dripping with contempt.

"It doesn't really make a difference what _I_ want. You're the one with the gun now. You're the one who has to make the decision."

"But you're not even going to try and talk me out of it?"

Thomas snorted in disgust. "I should think not," he sneered, affronted. "I'm sure whatever I have to say is only going to make you want to do it more anyway."

"'Mercy has its place, as do cruelty and revenge'," Erin recited coldly. Thomas cracked one dark eye open; it was as calculating and beady as a falcon's, and suddenly bright with interest.

"Meir Kahane," he acknowledged quietly. "Impressive. I wouldn't have thought that that would be the sort of thing they'd teach you in schools nowadays."

"You're not the only one who can do their research."

Vlad, who had thus far been observing this exchange in a rather uneasy silence, cleared his throat awkwardly. Erin ignored him, as did Thomas. The slayer's eyes were sweeping over the clearing, over Erin's stance, over Vlad's position, looking for weak spots, possible escape routes…

"Erin," Vlad said firmly. He saw her twitch slightly, her natural instinct to turn and obey him, but she remained rooted to the spot. She was shaking less now, and her breathing had slowed; her heart, however, was still frantically drumming against the tight cage of ribs. "Erin, come on, just-"

"Stay out of this, Vlad." Her voice was so sharp it could have shattered glass.

Vlad spluttered in disbelief. "Stay out of this? _Stay out of this_? I- bloody hell, Erin, I-"

"This is between him and me."

"Erin-"

"I'll see you back at Garside."

"Erin! Just stop being so ridiculous and we can go home!"

Thomas chortled appreciatively. "I think someone's getting rather impatient for some we-escaped-a-gun-crazed-maniac sex," he whispered theatrically, as though Vlad couldn't hear him. He winked at Erin, whose expression hardened.

"Don't talk about things you know nothing about," she spat. Thomas merely closed his eyes again, settling back down. Vlad had by now managed to unstick his feet from the floor to stumble clumsily over to them. He reached out to take Erin's hand - it was ice-cold, despite the warmth of the evening air- but she snatched it away.

"Go home, Vlad," she said bluntly, her eyes never leaving Thomas' face. "I'll catch you up when I'm done here." The line in her forehead deepened as she observed the slight twitch in the slayer's cheek. Despite his easy manner he was lying stiffly, tensed on the forest floor; every muscle, every ligament was poised, ready to pounce. Vlad knew he couldn't leave Erin alone with him. Thomas had already proved that he could overpower her, and if the gun went off in the struggle who knew which one of them would be hit? Erin wasn't thinking clearly. She'd been through a terrifying ordeal and quite understandably wanted her revenge- but this wasn't right. This wasn't sensible. Revenge was messy, and complicated, and more often than not it left one in more trouble than one had been in at the start. The Guild would sort Thomas out- Vlad would make sure of it. He'd be there when the man stood trial.

"You're not a killer, Erin," he told her quietly. He didn't know what else to say- he'd never seen her like this before. "All three of us know you won't pull that trigger."

"_How_ do you know?" she demanded harshly. Her eyes were suspiciously bright. "How do you know I'm not a killer? I could kill him if I wanted to. I could. It's easy. Anyone can kill someone if they want to, if they've got the means to do it. And I have. And I want to. I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"You don't, Erin!"

"YES I DO!" she screamed suddenly, and jerked the gun up to fire two shots into the air, as though to prove her point. Both Thomas and Vlad cringed, ducking instinctively; there was a flurry of wings and disturbed leaves as nesting birds took flight in alarm. "Don't try to tell me what I want and what I don't, Vlad, because you don't know! You don't know anything! Everyone thinks that they know everything about me and I hate it!" She didn't even attempt to wipe away the hot, angry tears that were spilling out of her eyes as her voice wavered out of control. She began to tremble again. Vlad realised that if she didn't put the gun down soon then she'd be in danger of pulling the trigger accidentally.

There was a moment of silence as Erin brought the barrel back down to point at Thomas' chest again. The man appeared to be holding his breath. Vlad could tell that he'd sooner die than beg Erin for mercy, and he could feel two conflicting but equally strong emotions rising inside of him: his vampiric desire for revenge and bloodshed, and an altogether more human notion of clemency.

"He would have killed me without a second thought, you know he would have," Erin snarled. She scrubbed at her face fiercely. "You heard what he said. And he was quite prepared to get rid of you too, so why are you protecting him?"

"_Protecting _him?" Vlad repeated, his voice unnaturally high with incredulity. He couldn't believe he was actually having this conversation. He'd never, not once, thought that he'd ever have to talk _Erin_ out of killing someone; he'd always assumed it would be the other way around. _He_ was the blood-thirsty monster, after all. "Did you not hear what _I_ said about tearing him limb from limb and ripping his head off?"

"Oh, so it's alright for you to take your revenge but as soon as I want mine it's all 'Oooh, Erin, stop, come home'?"

"We've got a chance to get out of here alive, let's take that instead, shall we?"

"No," she snapped. She still wasn't looking at him. "I won the gun off him. I want to kill him. And then he'll never bother us again." A slight pause. "I think I'll enjoy it."

"Haven't you been listening? He doesn't care! What good's it going to do?"

Erin laughed: a wild, hysterical sound. It sounded almost ethereal as it echoed around the clearing- the cry of a banshee.

"Of course he cares! He doesn't want to die any more than I did!" This time it was her turn to cock the gun; the innocent-sounding click brought Vlad an equally painful spasm of terror as when Thomas had done it. "Stand well clear if you want to watch."

"Be careful of the throwback," Thomas said, his characteristic easy tone sounding strained as he tried not to look down the barrel. "Women are never very good shots."

"Says you," Erin snarled, "I doubt you were aiming for my shoulders."

"Moving targets are tricky."

"Good job I don't have that problem, then."

Vlad felt utterly powerless. It was marvellous, really, how such a small action could cause such a horrific consequence. One tiny movement- and Erin would be a killer. One tiny movement- and a life would be lost. Perhaps the life of a person who didn't deserve one, but a life nonetheless.

"You do this, Erin," Vlad said softly, making one last desperate attempt to appeal to the girl he knew was still there, "And you're a murderer. You'll have taken a life."

"He would have taken mine-"

"Just forget about him, ok? He's not worth it! He's not worth your breath, your tears, your anger, any of it!" He wanted to touch her, but in the state she was in any contact could set her off. "He shot you. He almost killed you. He held you at gun-point. _I get it_. I get it all. But if you shoot him you'll probably feel good for about a minute. And then you'll regret it for the rest of your life." He looked down at the man who had nearly forced him to end his unlife. Who had been prepared to end his girlfriend's life. "And do you really want him- _him_- to be the reason you hate yourself forever?"

For the first time since she'd gotten hold of the gun, Erin turned to look at Vlad. Her blue eyes were swimming with tears, scalding hot- they looked as though they were drowning her. And as Vlad looked deeper, looked past the black eye and the fading scar and the tousled hair, he finally saw the Erin who had been hiding from him ever since her return.

She was broken. She was a fractured, hollow, empty shell of a girl. She'd splintered off into different strands, each strand what she thought she should be or what she knew others thought she should be. It was with a sinking feeling that Vlad realised that he didn't really know her at all. He'd been given hints, snatched particles of information- but he didn't know the truth. He didn't know _why_ her relationship with her parents had collapsed, didn't know _why_ she had such problems with intimacy… he knew the Erin she had created, the one she thought she ought to be. Not the real one. It was like he was dating a book character: she wasn't a lie, exactly, but she was fictional. The amount she knew about him compared to the amount he knew about her was almost laughable. He would bare his soul to her and she would skip along, kissing him like there was no tomorrow, pretending everything was all sweet and lovely when it very clearly wasn't. The pain and the frustration were eating at her from the inside and Vlad could only thank his lucky stars that she hadn't yet turned the gun on herself. The despair in those blue eyes told him that she wasn't far off.

Erin's tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. A salty teardrop trickled onto the tip. She swallowed. Slowly, painstakingly, as though it were taking a great effort, the hand holding the gun dropped to her side. Her gaze never left Vlad's- if he hadn't known better he'd have thought that he'd hypnotised her. He barely registered Thomas' shaky, relieved exhale as she held the gun out. Her fingers were curled softly around the handle; as he took it from her, he could feel the heat of it burning his cold flesh. He knew he ought to say something to Thomas, warn him, perhaps, or remind him that he wouldn't get away with the stunt he'd just tried to pull- but he couldn't summon up the energy. He could see that Erin was teetering on the edge of meltdown and he wanted her to be in a safe space when it happened.

It was time to go home.

_TBC..._


	19. Chapter 19

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: The longest chapter of a fic I think I've ever written._

Chapter 19

Dusk was falling in earnest. The temperature had dropped, but only slightly. The sky was stained a pinkish-red, watered down here and there with streaks of purple and orange. The moon, tonight a silvery half-crescent, was winning its battle; the sun was slowly slipping beyond the horizon, a glowing, blood-red orb casting its final rays out across the landscape. There were no stars. The local farmer and his family had successfully gathered in the year's harvest, and the fields were bare- only a few weeds, as green as the corn was yellow, could be seen amongst the stubby remains of the shorn crops. Two squirrels chased each other up and around a nearby oak tree; the shadow of a rabbit could be spied in the undergrowth; the sleepy hoot of an owl echoed feebly across the path. A light night breeze had picked up, but they were sheltered by the thick wall of trees: not even Erin, who wasn't wearing a jacket, was shivering. Parched leaves crunched beneath their feet- the past few weeks had been uncharacteristically dry and the forest floor was hard, unyielding as they tramped along the path that lead to the boundary. The night smelt pure, tangy with the scent of ripening blackberries and the distinctive smell of fresh green shoots, newly formed, pushing their way up through the dark, damp earth to breathe and grow in the harsh, exposed environment of the open air. There was no scent of petrol, of stale fast food to taint the night. The distant sounds of traffic from the motorway, a good half a mile away, floated over the heads of the trees, brushing the tops and occasionally entangling within the thick, entwining branches. The steady vroom of the cars and the lorries wasn't usually noticeable from here, but on a night such as this the smallest noise became detectable. Vlad remembered being told in a Physics lesson once that sound travelled further at night- he supposed it was because of the temperature inversion.

The gun had joined the stake in his right pocket. They nestled together, metal against wood; the two weapons weighed him down, one side of his jacket much heavier than the other. Vlad could feel a pressure building up in the bridge of his nose: it spread up to the area behind his eyes, across his forehead, back past his hairline to his temples. It wasn't simply the dull ache of exhaustion and dehydration, though he could feel that too- it was a sharp pain, stabbing pointedly at his sinuses, growing and growing progressively until CRACK! Something in his nose shifted and thick, deoxygenated blood, of such a deep hue that in the twilight it looked more black than red, gushed out. It flooded onto his upper lip, streamed onto his lower, and dripped steadily off the point of his chin. The leather sleeve of his jacket wasn't ideal for stemming the flow, and he turned to Erin and said thickly:

"Have you got a tissue or something?"

The panic hit him like a brick when he saw she wasn't beside him. He whirled around, eyes straining desperately as he tried to discern her shape in the gathering gloom. Had Thomas followed them? Had she strayed off the path? Had he, Vlad, taken a wrong turn and lost her?

It was with another dizzying rush of relief that he caught the sound of vomiting from behind a nearby tree. He hovered for a moment until the retching had subsided and all that could be heard was dry-heaving, before picking his way over to her.

"Erin?" he said cautiously. No answer. He peered around the tree: she was doubled over, bracing herself on the trunk for support, drawing in great gasps of the night air. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, though she'd thrown up neatly enough. "You alright?" he asked her awkwardly. Her gaze flickered to him, but she avoided making eye contact. She deflected his question with one of her own.

"What happened to you?"

Vlad shrugged. "Just a nosebleed, I guess. You haven't got a tissue, have you?" She shook her head, eyelids fluttering closed momentarily. He fell into an uneasy silence, jumping back as Erin retched again. Beads of sweat were gathering on her face, and her fringe was sticking to her forehead; she was a sickly white colour, her cheekbones and the line of her jaw tinged with grey. Her eyes were bleary and bloodshot.

"Let's get home," she said hoarsely. She rested her head against the trunk of the tree, scrunching her eyes shut tightly. It pained Vlad to see her so weak.

"It's probably about a twenty five minute walk from here-"

"No. Just use your speed."

"I thought you said you were done with vampire stuff."

"Please, Vlad." The plea was barely louder than a whisper, but he didn't need asking twice. Gathering her into his arms, careful to avoid drenching her in blood, he summoned his remaining strength and shot off into the night.

* * *

He landed unsteadily in the courtyard, clattering ungainly on the cobbles as the full force of Erin's weight slammed into him. He felt her knees give way and heard her curse under her breath as another wave of nausea swept over her. He felt weak arms trying to push him away; he let go and she immediately staggered backwards, reaching out wildly as though clutching at thin air would be enough to support her.

"Hey," he heard himself say, rushing forwards automatically in case she fell, "Just- just calm down for a minute, alright? Just stay still and get yourself steady."

She was shaking her head vigorously; Vlad knew it would be doing little to aid her undoubtedly throbbing headache. "Don't- need- you-" she gasped. She seemed to be finding it difficult to catch her breath.

"Do you need a paper bag or something?" he asked her anxiously. She shot him a look of pure venom.

"If you haven't- got anything- useful- to suggest-"

"I was only trying to be helpful!"

Erin closed her eyes yet again, gritting her teeth. Her nails were digging into her palms as she clenched her fists, trying to regain control over her breathing. "I'm- fine," she gasped. "Just- going to sit- down- for a bit." She sat down where she was, cross-legged on the cold cobbles. She placed her head in her hands.

Vlad was struck with sudden inspiration. "Stay there until I can get Renfield," he said, laying a protective hand on her shoulder. "He'll have something for motion sickness."

"No!" Erin jerked her head up suddenly, eyes wide and panicked. The alarm in her voice made Vlad pause, perplexed. She looked away from him, reaching up to rub her forehead with her left hand. He crouched down beside her, his nosebleed having now, mercifully, begun to dry up.

"What is it?" he asked her softly. She flushed, her face blotching red amidst the patches of white. Her eyes fixed themselves on a spot slightly to the left of his head.

"I can't." The admission was so quiet, so full of shame and despair that Vlad wondered for a moment whether he had heard right. He sought to reassure her.

"You don't have to come inside if you still feel sick," he said soothingly, squeezing her shoulder lightly. "I can get Renfield to come out here if you still feel dizzy-"

"_No_!" She swallowed shakily. "No, I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anyone. I can't go back inside."

"It'll just be Renfield. Everyone else will be out hunting at this hour-"

"I don't think you understand." She looked to be having difficulty forming her words; Vlad sat back patiently as he waited for her to speak, wondering whether she had some form of concussion. "I can't see Renfield. I can't go back in there. Going back in there means I have to pretend that everything's ok and I just… I can't. I can't go on like this." She was becoming more and more agitated, her hands twisting frantically in her lap as she shot an anxious glance over her shoulder to the double doors that led into the entrance hall. Vlad knew they wouldn't be locked.

"You don't have to pretend that everything's ok," he told her gently. "In fact, that's the last thing I want you to do. I want you to talk me through it, tell me exactly what happened. Then I'll get on the phone to the Guild and see what we can do about charges."

Erin shook her head frantically. "No, no, no," she muttered under breath, "Don't. Just leave it, please- don't let's give him a reason to come after us again. I'm fine, you're fine, we're all going to be fine now it's over." Her face was set, still an intangible shade of grey. "I've changed my mind." Her voice sounded slightly strangled. "Let's go inside. Everything will be fine in the morning. We don't even have to talk about it." The dilation of her pupils showed Vlad that she was verging on hysterical. "We'll go inside and pretend that none of this ever happened. That's what you said to Thomas, wasn't it? We won't ever speak of it again. We'll forget all about it."

"You really think that's going to work? You really think that'll make everything better?!"

"IT'S THE ONLY THING I KNOW HOW TO DO!" she roared suddenly, and in a surprising display of strength that caught Vlad off guard she pushed herself to her feet, stumbling slightly as she strode over to one of the courtyard's pillars. Her fingernails scraped across the red brick as she pushed her hands against it, the muscles in her neck taut and tense. Vlad stood up slowly, so as not to antagonise her. The weight of the revolver in his pocket had never been more noticeable.

"This is how I deal with things, Vlad; it's the only way I know how." Her voice cracked as she spoke his name and he was taken aback by the anguish creasing her features. "You and me, your family, living here, everyone thinking I'm dead, slayer trials, hangings, being shot, being held hostage, maniacs with guns… everything is just so messed up and I _hate_ it, Vlad! I left home to try and get some form of normality and it's just made everything worse. I can't live like this anymore, it's too much!" She had begun to pace up and down, refusing to make eye contact. Vlad simply stood there silently, running through her words. He felt oddly detached, as though he were watching the scene through a frosted window, observing it from above; a casual, emotionless passer-by, merely looking on but as though through a slight haze, a slight fog. And Erin was still talking but it was all just words to him now, none of it making sense… passing through one ear, arriving in his brain to give him a quick, sharp punch, and passing out of the other ear again…

"I don't understand," he said flatly. That was the obvious thing to say, though he understood very well what she was telling him. Or rather, what she was _about_ to tell him. She rounded on him, eyes ablaze with a savage fury, a savage pain.

"This is how it'll be," she snarled, breaking off from her pacing to approach him almost threateningly. "If I carry on living here this is how it's going to be. I'll always be the prime objective; I'll always be the bait. People are going to see me as an easy target because I'm a breather and they'll come after me to get to you. We got lucky with Thomas tonight: he said a lot of stuff but he never actually did anything apart from hit me a couple of times. We're going to come across people who are prepared to do a lot worse, and you might not be able to get to me straight away and who knows what horrid things they might do…" She trailed off, her face streaked with tears. A sob choked her and she stamped her foot angrily, wiping viciously at her face. "Ugh! For God's sake, why do I always _cry_? I hate crying, it's so pointless-"

"There's nothing wrong with crying," Vlad interjected quietly. He had begun to feel very cold. "Ingrid taught me that."

Erin gave an exaggerated snort. "Don't even get me started on your sister. She's always been trying to split us up, ever since that _stupid_ Carpathian Feast… and then your father's always making jibes and horrid little remarks- and there hasn't ever been a time when _Bertrand_ hasn't been after my blood…" She swung round, running her hands through her hair. "I just… knowing what people are prepared to do to us, I don't feel like I can carry on with this. There are times when it's like I'm suffocating. I just feel so scared, all the time; I'm always on edge, and I can't sleep, and I look disgusting because I never go outside and I don't eat properly…" She threw herself back against the pillar, closing her eyes. "I just want it all to stop," she whispered, sliding down to the floor and bringing her knees up to her chest. "All of it. I don't want to have to think or feel anymore. It hurts too much."

Vlad was at a loss of what to say. She'd never opened up to him like this before and it was unnerving; he hadn't realised that she'd been feeling quite so trapped, quite so… he supposed _afraid_ was the word, and yet it didn't quite fit. She was afraid of what people might do to her if she remained in the vampiric world, certainly- she hadn't been overdramatising when she'd said that there were people out there baying for her blood- but it was the loss of independence, the repressive lifestyle, the way she would constantly have to be looking over her shoulder that appeared to be scaring her more than anything else. For a breather, catapulted into this culture of bats and blood and blackness through nothing more than unfortunate circumstance, the chauvinistic regimes and ruthless attitudes must have been somewhat daunting. And spending so long indoors, with the same people who weren't exactly _nice_ to her… it wasn't difficult to understand why she was feeling this way.

No, Vlad was having no trouble at all in seeing why she was so conflicted. But what mattered to him right now wasn't the why; it was the what. The what was going to happen next. The what Erin was going to do. He couldn't just hold her as she cried and tell her that everything was alright and that she was ok- because everything _wasn't_ alright, and she _wasn't_ ok. Vlad knew that she must be hating exposing herself like this; she had, as he had, been taught that it was imperative to maintain a stiff upper lip at all costs, lest anyone use your weaknesses against you. He pushed away the nagging voice in the back of his mind that loftily informed him that if she'd just confided in him in the first place then none of this would be happening. They couldn't change that now. It was irrelevant, to analyse and lament what had gone before. He didn't want to let Erin go but if she was feeling this frightened, if she really was hating it this much… he didn't want to be the reason why she fell apart. He couldn't be. If he really loved her, enough to end his life for her, then he would have to let her go.

"Erin," he murmured. It took her a moment, but she managed to drag her eyes up to meet his. "Tell me what you want. Please. I need to know how to help you."

"I don't know. I don't know what I want." Her voice was flat, toneless; it was as though there was nothing left inside of her anymore. "I can't carry on like this, Vlad. We both could have died tonight. That's not right. It's not fair on either of us. I just think-"

"What?" he urged her. He dreaded to hear what she was about to say, and yet he needed the fatal blow to fall before he lost his control.

Erin threw back her head. Her blue eyes were blazing in the gleaming light of the moon. There was an almost spectral look about her as she held Vlad's gaze, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I think- I think we need some time." She hesitated; it looked as though this was costing her every ounce of strength she possessed. "Apart."

_TBC..._


	20. Chapter 20

_DISCLAIMER: see Chapter 1_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: The final chapter :'( and an_ _über long one at that. Enjoy..._

Chapter 20

It had taken longer than expected for Erin to pack her things. She had accumulated a surprising number of extra possessions since her arrival eight months ago; the old, battered rucksack was bursting at the seams, several overflowing carrier bags sat bulging beside it. School books, new clothes had replaced the slaying guides and tatty neck-scarves. The slayers' kit lay abandoned beneath the loose floorboard in her room, untouched and forgotten about since the night of its discovery. The wardrobe stood bare. The dressing table sat empty. The single bed had been stripped of its linen. All that remained was an oak bedstead- even the mattress had been placed into storage. Vlad hovered in the doorway; Erin seemed to have everything perfectly under control. Everything was packed. She was just re-checking the throne room for that one History textbook she couldn't find and then, he supposed, she would be ready to go.

He ventured noiselessly across the threshold. The room wasn't yet cold. It had only been standing vacant for the best part of twenty-four hours- Erin had slept in his coffin last night. Vlad smiled at the memory. Nothing untoward had happened, of course, and it had been painfully bittersweet, but the feel of her small, fragile form in his arms had warmed him, somehow, and kept him together. It would be the memory of that night that would keep him sane for the next few months, he was sure of it.

As he wandered haltingly around the room, his fingers occasionally skimming over the back of a chair, the dusty folds of the moth-eaten curtains, the sense of a chapter coming to an end, of a book turning over its final pages began to overwhelm him. There was a painful lump forming in his throat and a pricking sensation at the back of his eyes, needle-sharp, as he peeled away the faded newspaper from Erin's dressing table mirror. She really had done a thorough job in packing the room up. He stared hard into the mirror, willing a reflection to spring into focus. He didn't think he'd ever in his unlife been as desperate to become human as he was at this moment. Right now he'd trade his home, his wealth, his title in order to become mortal without a second's hesitation. To become one in seven billion; inconspicuous; _normal_. At his age in the breather world, boys with their eighteenth birthdays fast approaching would be planning wild nights out, getting drunk, speeding, studying for exams; perhaps- dare he even entertain the possibility?- _getting laid_. Was it normal for a guy to be a virgin at eighteen? Was it normal for Erin, a pretty, intelligent girl, to have such an irrational fear of something as biologically natural as sex?

The lump was beginning to obstruct Vlad's throat. He wanted to smash the mirror, to hurl it at the wall and see it shatter into a thousand jagged, glacial shards. Better yet, he wanted to find Erin and sink his fangs into her tender throat. _Then_ she wouldn't be able to leave him. Then she'd stay with him forever. His mouth began to water at the prospect of tasting her sinfully delicious blood once again; he was a vampire, wasn't he? Shouldn't he stop trying to fight his natural instincts? He should accept his power, his authority and take what he wanted. Take what was his.

Except Erin _wasn't_ his. She wasn't anyone's. She didn't belong to anyone or anything- she was a free agent. She needed her independence to live; her outburst three nights before had proved as much. Vlad couldn't blame her. If the tables were turned he knew he'd be feeling exactly the same way. But it didn't make it any easier to watch her go.

He heard the click-clack of Ingrid's killer heels approaching and hastily wiped his face with his sleeve, swallowing fiercely. He threw one last longing glance into the mirror, before taping the sheets of newspaper over it again. He heard Ingrid pause in the doorway- he didn't turn around.

"Hey," she said softly. "Need a hand?"

"I think everything's about finished, thanks," he said shortly. He was getting a horrible sense of déjà-vu that was doing little to aid his self-control. Gesticulating vaguely at the packed bags at the foot of the bedstead, he made a great show of sweeping his fringe out of his eyes. "Erin's just finishing up in the throne room."

Ingrid nodded. "I know. Bertrand's in there with her now." She smiled grimly, stepping delicately into the room. "She found one of her old school jumpers under the sofa and started crying."

Vlad's head jerked up from his cross-examination of his shoelaces. "Is she ok? Should I go to her?"

"I wouldn't. You'll only make her worse, I should think. She's in good hands with Bertrand."

Vlad snorted. "I don't really see him as the touchy-feely type, to be quite honest. He'll probably just tell her that he'll drain her to save her the trouble of leaving. Think of all the petrol money she'll save," he added bitterly.

Ingrid sighed, as though she were steeling herself for an arduous task. She swept across the room, her red skirt snagging slightly on the uneven floorboards, before settling herself on the bedstead. "That's something _I_ would say, Vlad. Bertrand's far more tactful, you know that. And he's developed a certain regard for Erin these past few months."

"God, if you believe that then-"

"Well, maybe 'regard' was the wrong word," she snapped testily, bristling, "But he doesn't hate her guts as much as he used to. For Bertrand that's practically the same thing." She made a pointed gesture with her perfectly-shaped eyebrows that indicated that Vlad should sit beside her on the bedstead. "I thought I'd come and check that you weren't bawling your eyes out over her stasis spray or something."

"How very thoughtful," Vlad snapped acidly, "I'm touched by the sentiment."

Ingrid's eyes narrowed. A muscle quivered in her alabaster cheek. "You know, you and I have never exactly seen eye to eye, Vlad, but I wouldn't have thought even you would be so dense not to recognise the rare times I am actually sincere."

"Is it little wonder? You've screwed me over enough times in the past."

"And you've got another five, six centuries of it, Satan permitting, so you'd best get used to it." Recognising that her brother wasn't in the mood for sisterly condolences, Ingrid rose gracefully to her feet. "Dad wants to know what time she's leaving so he can get everyone assembled. If we don't all end up burnt to crisp it'll be a miracle."

"Half-past ten," Vlad answered gloomily. "If you all stay under the archway like I said then we shouldn't have a problem."

"And since when have we ever done what you've told us to, O Great One?"

Vlad turned away. He felt slightly guilty for rejecting Ingrid's olive branch (as pitiful as it had been), but, quite honestly, playing nice required far too much effort. He felt drained, as though it had been days since he had last slept. He was craving blood- always a bad sign- and what he really wanted to do was curl up in his coffin and shut out the rest of the world. He was finding it increasingly difficult to talk civilly to anyone but Erin. Even Wolfie had been on the receiving end of a tirade recently.

As Ingrid tossed back her ebony hair with an injured sigh and stalked out of the room, heels clip-clopping on the uncarpeted floor, Vlad let out a groan of frustration. He sank down onto the bedstead, head in his hands, screwing his eyes tightly shut as he tried to preserve the smell of the room in memory. It had already faded slightly within the short time it had been standing vacant. The scent of shampoo, of lip-balm was beginning to be masked by the rather more pungent aroma of exposed damp and disturbed dust. Soon, Vlad realised with a jolt, it would be as though she had never been here. Over the next few weeks everything Erin-related would disappear. That half-drunk carton of orange juice would go; the scribbled note to Renfield that was stuck to the door of the fridge which reminded him that she was vegetarian would be got rid of. Soon, all Vlad would have left of her would be the memories.

Not much had been said of what had transpired between the pair of them and Thomas Golding. Erin had given Vlad the bare bones of the tale, which he had subsequently related to the rest of the clan, who were, of course, desperately eager to hear the gory details. The information Erin had given him had been hazy at best and rather too brief for his liking, and her embarrassed admission that the text she had received from Ryan had in fact been from an unknown number rather than his mobile had rendered him incoherent with indignation- but there was little to be done now. Erin was leaving, and Thomas would soon be in custody; a trial was sure to follow, and a messy one at that, but that could be faced as and when the slayers deemed it… _sensitive_. Vlad knew he would soon become very sick of that high-ceilinged hall with the gold-leaf cherubim artwork.

He checked his watch dully: twenty past ten. He supposed he ought to make his way down to the courtyard. He didn't want to meet Erin when she came to pick up her bags; it would be too awkward to contemplate. Heaving himself to his feet, Vlad trudged over to the open door. Hand resting on the doorknob, he cast one last glance over his shoulder at the empty room, firmly telling himself that it was to check for any items Erin might have missed. A heavy sigh- a sigh of those who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and are beginning to become weary of it- and Vlad slowly pulled the door shut behind him.

* * *

It was a splendid June morning. The balmy rays of the sun beat down upon the courtyard, steadily baking the stone cobbles until the weeds that sprung up between them were parched a depressingly dead-looking brown. Vlad and Erin had deliberately chosen a Sunday morning for her departure; the chances of running into any rogue students or- heaven forbid- Miss McCauley were reassuringly few. Vlad really didn't have the energy to hypnotise anyone today. The clan was huddled discontentedly under the archway, bickering between themselves; the Count's pointedly audible threat of pushing Ingrid out into the sunlight left Bertrand with little choice but to sink back into the stone wall behind him, rolling his eyes in resigned exasperation as father and daughter battled it out with insults.

Erin was stood in the centre of the courtyard beside her car, face upturned to the sun. Her eyes were lidded, half-closed; from Vlad's position in the shade, her slight smile showed him that she was savouring the feeling of warmth upon her skin. It had been many months since she had been able to linger in the fresh air. The fading red scar, the vivid black eye paled into a curious insignificance when observed alongside such a picture of peace. The boot of the car was still open, the rucksack and carrier bags having been unceremoniously slung in by Renfield only moments ago. Her small, pale hand lingered upon the handle of the passenger door. Vlad cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Erin?" His voice sounded oddly strangled. He swallowed. "I, er…" he hesitated. What should he say? What _did_ one say in a situation like this? A simple goodbye would be insufficient; a passionate declaration of love too painful. The presence of his family left little possibility for privacy.

But it looked as though, this time, Erin was going to take the lead. She let go of the car door, turning her head away from the light, and made her way over to where Vlad was hovering behind a pillar. She reached up, slowly, to rest her hand on the left side of his neck; he automatically arched into her touch, eyes fluttering closed, tiny shockwaves of sensitivity surging from his stilled pulse-point.

"This isn't goodbye, Vlad," she said softly. "I don't want you to start thinking that you'll never see me again. I know it's more difficult for me to get around than you vampires-" she gestured towards her car- "but just because I can't fly doesn't mean that I can't get back up here as soon as."

Vlad nodded mutely. He didn't trust himself to speak. Why did she always handle their partings so much better than he did?

"I've said goodbye to a lot of people in my time, Vlad," Erin continued, as though she had heard his thoughts. "Mum and Dad, Ryan- when I left them, it felt as though it was going to be forever. But it's not like that for us. It's just a break. Just a break."

Vlad stepped back slightly, breaking her touch; he wanted to see her in full, to run his eyes over every inch of her, commit every freckle, every hair, every expression to memory. He didn't trust himself not to forget.

"Call me when you get home, yeah? Just as soon as you get a minute. No pressure."

"Of course I will." She looked back at her car again. "Knowing the temperament of that thing, I'll probably be halfway down the lane before needing to phone you to get me a pick-up truck." The joke fell flat as Vlad saw the tears sparkling in her eyes. Once again, the painful sense of finality, of conclusion, threatened to overcome him; he pulled Erin roughly into a hug, burying his head in her shoulder, screwing his eyes tightly shut. He could feel her shuddering slightly against him.

They stood like that for over a minute. Vlad could sense the eyes of every member of the clan on them- he didn't want them here, interrupting this moment, invading his and Erin's precious last seconds together. She was leaving, leaving to go back to her stupid parents! They didn't love her like he did. They didn't care for her like he did. They wouldn't look after her the way he would look after. Erin should be with him! Her parents had blown their chance with her; he only hoped, as he lifted his head reluctantly from her shoulder, that they would cherish this opportunity for reconciliation. Hitching a brave smile onto his face, Vlad broke the embrace. Erin grinned awkwardly back, both surreptitiously brushing the wetness from their faces.

A silence. A silence where so many things Vlad knew he should have said, knew he _needed_ to say, rose up inside of him, threatening to burst out of him. There was an odd ringing in his earss; a sense of being choked; a sense of losing his footing, his grip upon the world around him slipping away-

And then Erin stepped away. She turned, determinedly avoiding the accusatory gazes of Ingrid, Bertrand and the Count (Wolfie was whispering furtively into the ear of his teddy), and strode across the courtyard towards her car. She didn't look back as she slammed the boot. She didn't look back as she pulled open the driver door.

"Erin!" Vlad felt as though the name had been ripped from his mouth. She turned, blue boring into blue as she met his gaze; there was a sense of defiance about her as she moved to face him squarely. "This isn't- this isn't _it_ for us, is it?" Vlad had felt an irresistible need to ask the question, despite everything Erin had said: he needed to be certain, he needed to be _sure_…

Erin looked down, breaking the eye contact. The sun bounced off her blonde head, her hair glowing gold in the light. She took a deep breath, shoulders visibly rising, before she threw back her head and responded to Vlad's desperate look with a solemn one of her own. "No," she said simply. The sincerity in her voice was unmistakeable. "You and me- we've been through too much together to let this be 'it'. I'll be back before you know it. And this time, I'll be ready. Ready for it all."

She gave him a smile- a smile full of sadness and yet one that held promises, that gave Vlad hope- before she opened the door of the car and sat down in the driver's seat. Vlad watched her start the ignition, pull her seatbelt across her; Renfield hurried to open the gates as she released the handbrake. A final quick glance over her shoulder- and she released the clutch, rolling across the threshold of the school, steadily picking up speed as the road opened up before her. She was off back to Leicester, off to see her parents again for the first time in eight months. Vlad kept her in sight for as long as possible, eyes straining as he watched the little car trundle along the country lanes. Away from Garside. Away from him. And yet he couldn't stop a smile of his own from spreading across his lips. This wasn't it. This wasn't the end. As he turned back to face his clan, his smile only widened as he saw the window of Erin's room thrown open. Yes. She would be back. He knew she would.

They were going to be alright.

_FIN_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: And there we are! The denouement, as it were. I know I ought to upload this note as a completely separate chapter but my OCD can only cope with the chapter total being a multiple of five. If I ended up with 21 chapters then I would probably keel over from hyperventilation. **Anyway**, I just want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart who has followed, favourited and reviewed any one of the stories in this trilogy. I never expected this sort of reaction to my writing so I am kind of overwhelmed. If I could hug you all, I would, but you will have to be content with cyber love, I'm afraid. Though the trilogy is now complete, I am certainly going to continue writing: I have 'Solidarity' to continue with (apologies to anyone reading that for my sporadity in updating) and then two more multi-chapter fics that I have been dying to write for about five months. I'll probably be dormant for the next few weeks because of revision for my AS exams, but when they're over I shall be back with vigour! And who knows, my lack of will-power may cause me to write the odd one-shot or two over the Easter holidays… but thank you once again, all of you. I really have had such a brilliant time writing this. Until the next fic!_


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